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Ah  !  she  was  a  pretty  picture  just  then.      (Page  139 


THE  HUNTINGDONS :   ,_ 

r         (J 


OR. 


GLIMPSES   OF  INNER  LIFE. 


DT 

MAEIA    LOUISE    HAYWARD, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  CAVERLT  FAMILY." 


BOSTON: 
GRAVES    AND    YOUNG, 

24    CORNHILL. 

18G5. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 

H.  V.  DEGEN  &  SON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


THE     HUNTINGDONS 


OR, 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE. 


MRS.  LIVINGSTON  was  alone.  Five  min- 
utes since  hasty  footsteps  had  passed 
through  the  hall,  a  nervous  hand  had  closed 
quickly  the  outside  door,  and  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  rapid  footsteps  had  followed  immediately 
after.  Mrs.  Livingston  had  listened  eagerly  to 
each  one  of  these  movements,  and  as  the  last 
faint  step  came  to  her  ear,  she  sank  into  an 
easy  chair  and  folding  both  hands  full  over  her 
face,  she  remained  motionless  and  silent.  All 
was  silent  around,  save  the  low  ticking  of  the 
French  clock  on  the  mantel,  and  all  remained  silent 
for  a  long  while,  till  the  flutter  and  stir  of  a  canary 

*l»in  its  cage  startled  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  gazing  up 

,  she  said, 

•       "  My  poor  bird  what     has     frightened    thee." 


6  THE    HUNTIXGDOXS  :     OR, 

Then  arising,  apparently  occupied  with  another 
thought,  she  passed  slowly  to  the  end  window,  and 
was  just  lifting  the  curtain,  when  suddenly  she  let 
it  fall,  saying  half  aloud, 

"  What  matters  it,  he  is  nothing  to  me  now, 
and  must  never  be." 

During  that  long  time  she  had  been  communing 
with  her  own  heart.  Rapidly  had  thought  carried 
her  back  to  a  few  months  previous,  when  she  had 
first  met  him,  whose  departure  had  now  caused 
her  such  deep  sadness,  and  dwelling  upon  that 
meeting  and  the  many  events  which  had  transpired 
since,  she  tasted  anew  their  sweetness,  but  only 
to  render  her  present  feelings  more  bitter,  more 
painful.  With  the  feeling  that  he  had  indeed 
gone  from  her,  gone  forever,  she  had  stepped  to 
the  window  to  ascertain  if  he  had  left  the  village, 
for  from  her  windows  she  could  easily  see  across 
"  the  harbor  "  the  village  hotel,  and  the  very  win- 
dows of  the  room  he  had  occupied  during  the  past 
weeks.  Many  nights  had  she  watched  the  long 
lasting  lights  which  shone  from  those  windows, 
but  now  she  felt  to  look  was  all  in  vain,  and  dread- 
ing, too,  to  know  the  certainty  of  her  feeling,  she 
dropped  the  curtain  and  murmured  the  words 
above,  then,  turning  round,  gazed  here  and  there 
for  some  familiar  object,  something  which  had  not 
"  gone"  written  upon  it.      Her  eye  fell  upon  the 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  7 

Bible,  and  as  she  turned  its  sacred  leaves  over, 
a  few  pages  arrested  her  attention,  and  seeing 
there  the  deeper  "  gone,"  gone  of  father,  mother, 
sister  and  a  dearly  loved  husband,  the  fountain  of 
her  heart  was  opened,  and  tears  —  those  great  re- 
lievers of  human  misery  —  came  to  calm  her  trou- 
bled spirit.  Then  again  went  memory  back  into 
the  past,  and  as  the  old  sorrows  arose  from  their 
ashes,  the  new  one  lost  its  sudden  bitterness,  for 
amongst  past  memories  the  Comforter  divine  ap- 
peared, and  whispered,  "  Fear  not,  for  I  am  with 
thee,"  "  Cast  thy  burden  on  me  for  I  will  sustain 
thee."  And  Hope  sweetly  added,  "  Why  should'st 
thou  doubt  ?  Has  he  not  carried  thee  through  far 
heavier  griefs,  and  will  he  not  through  this  ?  Fear 
not,  but  only  trust,"  and,  leaning  on  this  trust  the 
saddened  face  grew  brighter,  and  the  tearful  eyes 
were  upward  lifted,  while  the  sorrowing  one 
whispered  "  Father,  thy  will  be  done." 

Day  followed  day,  and  Mrs.  Livingston  still 
trusted,  still  waited,  praying  for  earnest  work  in 
God's  vineyard,  work  that  would  not  recall  the 
past  nor  give  opportunity  for  painful  thought. 

The  prayer  was  granted,  for  soon  after,  one  warm 
October  eve,  while  walking  up  and  down  the  piaz- 
za, she  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  her  brother, 
Mr.  Huntingdon,  a  merchant  from  an  adjoining 
city.  -      ^ 


8  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  I  have  come,"  said  he  to  her,  advancing  and 
clasping  her  proffered  hand  in  his,  "  to  beg  a  favor 
of  you,  and  one  which  I  shall  be  very  unwilling 
to  have  you  refuse." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ? "  quickly  returned  Mrs. 
L . 

"  You  probably  know,"  replied  Mr.  Hunting- 
don, in  a  saddened  tone,  "  that  we  have  given 
up  all  hopes  of  Margaret's  recovery.  Dr.  Stetson 
was  in  yesterday,  and  said  the  only  thing  now  he 
could  recommend  for  her,  was  a  trip  South,  and 
therefore  I  am  determined  to  start  immediately  for 
Florida,  and  " 

"  And  you  have  come  for  me  to  take  charge  of 
your    family,"  eagerly  interrupted    Mrs.  L . 

"  Yes,  just  so,"  responded  her  brother,  "but 
how  is  it  ?  you  seem  pleased  with  the  proposition." 

"  I  am,"  returned  she.  "  Another  time  I  might 
not  have  been  so  willing,  nor  so  able  to  go,  but 
now  " — and  she  glanced  about  sorrowfully,  "  I  am 
a  little  tired  of  Easy  Hall,  and  think  I  should  en- 
joy a  change." 

"  Tired  of  Easy  Hall  ?  "  questioned  her  brother, 
while  he  gazed  round  admiringly,  and  then  rest- 
ing his  eyes  somewhat  suspiciously  upon  her  face, 
continued,"  or  tired  of  yourself?  " 

"  In  truth,  not  exactly  either,"  replied  Mrs. 
L ,  $t  the  same  time   starting  up  and  leading 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  9 

the  way  into  the  house.  "  Come  in,"  continued 
she,  "  supper  will  soon  be  ready,  meanwhile  tell 
me  more  of  your  plans,"  and  entering  the  library 
she  seated  herself  in  a  darkened  corner,  where 
her  tell-tale  face  could  not  so  easily  be  read. 

"  I  have    told    you    nearly   all,"    replied   Mr. 

H ,  advancing  to  her  side,   and  then  leaning 

over  the  back  of  her  chair,  continued,  "just  now 
I  am  more  interested  to  know  the  cause  of  your 
weariness,"  and  he  tenderly  smoothed  her  soft 
brown  hair. 

"  Never  mind,  brother  dear,"  returned  she, 
clasping  his  other  hand  which  rested  on  the  chair 
in  hers.  "  I  have  had  a  little  trouble,  but  just 
now  had  rather  not  speak  of  it,  so  please  don't 
question  me."  The  tear  which  dropped  on  her 
hand  though,  told  her  brother  it  was  not  as  small  as 
she  would  fain  persuade  him  to  believe,  but  he  re- 
frained from  questioning  her  further,  and  said, 

"  Lizzie,  how  long  do  you  suppose  we  intend 
to  be  absent  ?  " 

"  O,  three  or  four  months,  replied  she." 

"  Three  or  four !  rather  eight  or  nine.  You 
would  not  expect  us  to  return  before  warm 
weather." 

"  No,  I  suppose  you  ought  not  to  return  before 
then,  but  such  a  long  stay  will  prevent  me  carry- 
ing  out  my    plans   for   the    good  of  my    village 


10  THE   HUNTIXGDOXS:    OE, 

neighbors  this  winter.  I  have  been  so  engaged 
with  home  duties,  and  the  entertaining  of  my 
friends  this  summer,  I  have  made  scarcely  any 
acquaintances,  save  those  of  the  summer  residents, 
and  I  really  long  to  go  amongst  these  people.  An- 
other thing,  how  can  I  manage  your  family  for 
such  a  length  of  time  ?  they  are  not  children,  you 
know." 

"  I  have  thought  of  both  these  things,"  replied 
Mr.  Huntingdon,  "  and  have  feared  you  would  con- 
sider it  too  much  care  ;  but  I  know  no  one  else  I 
could  obtain  with  whom  they  would  be  pleased, 
or  who  would  exert  the  right  influence  over  thcx, 
and  besides  Margaret  is  so  anxious  to  have  you 
come,  I  trust  you  will  for  her  sake.  I  ought  to 
mention,  too,  that  Georgia  Ndble,  brother  Henry's 
step-daughter,  is  with  us,  and  will  remain  some 
time.  Her  father  wishes  her  to  be  removed  from 
the  society  and  influence  of  rather  a  dissipated 
young  man,  with  whom  she  has  become  acquaint- 
ed, and  has  therefore  sent  her  to  us.  She  will  not 
trouble  you  though,  being  very  reserved  and  quiet 
in  her  manner." 

"  Well,  I  shall  come,"    returned   Mrs.  L . 

"  I  may  perhaps  find  it  a  little  wearisome,  and 
governing  your  daughters  rather  perplexing,  but 
I  will  do  the  best  I  can." 

"  And  that  will  be  the  best,  I  have  no  fears," 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  11 

responded  the  fond  brother.  Just  here  a  servant 
entered  and  announced  tea  ;  and,  leaving  them,  we 
will  glance  about  Easy  Hall. 

Easy  Hall  was  thus  named  by  one  of  the  lady 
friends  of  the  former  owner,  from  the  fact  that 
visitors,  the  instant  they  entered  its  doors,  looked 
in  vain  for  that  tyrant  of  the  present  age,  t3r- 
turing  ceremony.  Each  one  was  at  liberty  to  dress, 
walk,  eat  and  speak  as  they  thought  proper  ;  and 
as  the  visitors  at  Easy  Hall  were  generally  well- 
bred,  sensible  people,  and  its  owner  peculiarly  so, 
it  followed  as  a  matter  of  course  that  no  house 
around  was  as  charming  and  attractive  and  now 
though  recently  fallen  into  Mrs.  Livingston's 
hands,  it  still  maintains  its  former  reputation.  It 
is  situated  on  a  hill  side  of  the  beautiful  town  of 

K ,  "that  little  Swiss  village  of  America,"  as 

one  of  our  poets  has  remarked.  The  surroundings 
are  indeed  highly  picturesque.  Standing  in  the 
summer-house,  upon  a  prominent  point  a  little  dis- 
tance from  the  house,  one's  eyes  are  feasted  on  the 
panorama  spread  before  them.  In  the  back- 
ground, clear  against  the  blue  sky,  stands  H 

Hill,  now  clothed  in  its  gorgeous  autumn  robes, 
more  varied  and  more  beautiful  than  elsewhere, 
on  account  of  the  great  dissimilarity  and  abun- 
dance of  the  foliage. 

Nestling  at  the   foot  of  the  hill  are  mingled  in 


12  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  charming  confusion,"  the  tasty  homes  of  -poets 
and  scholars,  side  by  side  with  those  of  "  rustic 
cottager "  and  "  sturdy  yeoman."  Both  gaze 
alike  upon  the  clear  sheet  of  water  before  them, 
H Harbor,  which  now  reflects  clouds  of  pur- 
ple, red  and  orange,  shaded  off  into  faint  pink  and 
yellow,  and  trees  of  all  forms  and  sizes. 

Nearer  to  us  are  other  sheets  of  water,  as  clear 
and  pellucid  as  the  harbor,  but  smaller  in  size. 
Their  banks  are  adorned  to  the  very  edge  with 
water-loving  trees  and  herbs,  which,  ever  now  and 
then,  dip  their  tender  branches  'neath  the  surface. 
Separating  these  sheets  of  water,  one  salt  and  the 
other  fresh,  is  a  dam,  shielded  on  each  side  with 
drooping  willows.  A  rude  mill,  and  the  nets  of 
fishermen  hanging  near  by,  impart  a  foreign  air  to 
the  scene.  The  shore  of  both  sides  of  the  harbor 
is  distinctly  seen.  Now  the  setting  sun  causes  the 
hills  and  trees  to  cast  deep  shadows  over  the  nearer 
one,  but  its  sombre  aspect  only  adds  beauty  by 
contrast,  to  the  farther  one.  Hill  and  dale,  water, 
clouds,  bright  sunshine,  waving  trees,  cottage, 
mansion,  ruins,  all  —  all  are  here,  and  all  arranged 
in  delicate  and  pleasing  combinations. 

Easy  Hall  itself,  is  a  double,  old,  though  newly 
fashioned  house,  and  like  its  owners  easy.  Easy  is 
the  entrance,,  a  step,  a  portico  with  seats  either 
side  of  it — another  step,  and  one  is  ushered  into  a 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNEE    LIFE.  13 

long  hall  furnished  with  lounges  and  chairs,  while 
its  walls  are  adorned  with  portraits.  At  the 
end  is  another  entrance,  opening  into  another 
portico,  covered  with  vines  and  provided  with 
seats.  And  here,  one  gains  another  view  of  hill- 
side, dale,  trees  and  flowers,  as  before.  This  hall 
is  the  favorite  "rendezvous  "  of  the  house.  Here 
are  said  the  pleasant "  good  mornings,"  here  whis- 
pered the  kind  "  good  nights" —  here,  over  the 
large  hall  stove,  in  winter,  or  'neath  one  of  the 
vine-covered  entrances  in  summer,  are  told  the 
news  and  village  stories, —  here  visitors  love  to  lin- 
ger, and  here  have  been  witnessed  many  a  sad 
scene  of  parting,  or  merry  one  of  meeting.  Lead- 
ing from  this  hall  are  many  pleasant  rooms,  while 
above  are  a  number  more,  all  furnished  with  taste 
and  neatness,  and  with  that  inviting  air  peculiar 
to  but  few  homes.  From  the  windows  are  seen, 
in  every  direction,  nature's  loveliest  pictures,  ever 
charming,  ever  new. 

And  now,  whether  promenading  the  piazza  on 
the  east  end  of  the  house,  which  looks  down  upon 

the  village  beneath,    and  off  to   H Hill,   or 

lolling  in  the  library,  reading  rare  works,  and 
anon  gazing  through  vines  upon  the  tasty  lodge, 
summer-house  and  pleasant  hill-side,  or  strolling 
over  garden,  farm-yard,  orchard,  woods  or  fields, 
plucking   fruit  and   gathering  wild  flowers,   one 


14  THE   HUNTINGDON. 

feels  he  is  indeed  happy  to  be  a  guest  at  Easy 
Hall. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  the  mistress  of  this 
place  stood  gazing  with  moistened  eyes  upon  every 
familiar  object  —  objects  which  had  so  lately  as- 
sumed a  new  beauty,  a  new  character,  now  stand- 
ing only  as  sad,  mute   reminders  of  the  past. 

She  turned  hastily  as  her  coachman  approached, 
and  with  a  sudden,  choking  sob,  bade  Mary, 
the  coachman's  wife,  and  her  housekeeper,  when 
away,  a  tearful  "  good-bye."  Seated  in  her  car- 
riage, she  lowered  her  veil,  determined  to  see  no 
more  ;  but  when  the  carriage  reached  the  end  of 
the  avenue,  she  raised  it  again  to  smile  on  the 
passer-by,  and  to  say  a  few  kind  words  to  those 
she  bade  "  farewell!  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

OPENING  the  door  we  are  in  the  parlor  of  Hill- 
side, Mr.  Huntingdon's  residence,  and  find  our- 
selves in  quite  a  family  circle.  That  is  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon's son,  the  young  man  so  busily  reading 
at  the  centre  table,  while  the  dark-haired  lady 
beside  him,  is  his  twin  sister,  Margaret.  Oppo- 
site to  them  are  Miss  Noble,  the  young  lady  be- 
fore mentioned,  and  Bessie  Huntingdon,  the  pet 
and  the  baby  of  the  Huntingdon  family,  though 
she  is  eighteen  years  old.  Reclining  on  an  ad- 
joining sofa  is  her  next  older  sister,  Louise,  appa- 
rently sleeping. 

Just  now  Bessie  is  talking,  her  brown  eyes 
sparkling  with  merriment,  and  her  rosy  cheeks 
glowing  with  excitement. 

"I  assure  you,"  continued  she,  "it  was  a  rare 
time.  There  was  Monsieur  DeRenz,  walking  up 
and  down,  as  full  of  rage  as  he  could  be.  He  does 
not  know  sufficient  English  to  express  himself 
when  he  gets  vexed,  and  so  abused  us  in  French, 
which  only  made  us  laugh  the  more,  it  is  so  ridicu- 


16  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OE, 

lous  to  hear  one  talk  angrily,  when  you  cannot  un- 
derstand a  word  he  says." 

"  What  are  you  chattering  about  ? "  said 
Louise  from  the  sofa,  while  she  half  raised  herself 
up,  and  leaned  upon  her  arm. 

"  O  you  are  awake  are  you,9'  replied  Bessie,, 
"  I  thought  the  cares  of  to-day  had  entirely  worn 
out  your  system,  but  I  find  curiosity  in  as  good 
a  condition  as  ever." 

"  Do  cease  your  nonsense,"  pettishly  returned 
Louise,  "  and  reply  to  my  question." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Bessie,  "  as  you  are  for  once 
so  greatly  interested  in  something  sensible  you 
shall  be  gratified.  To-day,  you  must  know,  we 
had  our  singing  lessons  from  Mons.  DeRenz,  and 
you  have  probably  heard  me  mention,  what  a 
strange  manner  he  has  of  tossing  his  head,  when 
he  sings.  Well,  when  he  was  right  in  the  most 
pathetic  part  of  one  of  the  pieces  he  is  teaching 
us,  Kate  Evans,  who  was  standing  directly  behind 
him,  commenced  mimicking  him.  It  was  so  lu- 
dicrous, happening  just  then,  that  we  could  scarce- 
ly restrain  bursting  into  laughter.  We  thought 
he  was  so  engrossed,  however,  in  the  song  that  he 
did  not  notice  us,  but  what  was  our  consternation 
to  see  him  rise  and  say  to  Kate,  with  a  low  bow, 

"  Very  well  done,  Mademoiselle." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  replied  she,  coloring. 


GLIMPSES  OF   LSTNER  LIFE.  17 

"  That  you  make  one  good  monkey,"  returned 
he. 

"  I  was  only  taking  a  lesson  from  a  greater 
one,"  said  she  haughtily. 

"  Then  commenced  a  scene  ;  Monsieur  lost  his 
temper,  said  all  sorts  of  strange  adjectives  in 
English,  and  finally  spent  his  anger  in  French. 
He  left  the  room  in  a  rage,  saying  he  would  see 
Madame,  and  I  can  hardly  wait  for  to-morrow  to 
come,  to  see  the  end  of  it.  Kate  will  have  to 
apologize,  I  think,  and  the  rest  of  us,  too,  for 
laughing  so  much." 

"  You  deserve  to,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  as  for 
Kate,  she  should  be  severly  reproved.  I  do  not 
see  how  such  a  young  girl  would  dare  to  be  so 
impertinent." 

"  But  she  didn't  think,"  pleaded  Bessie. 

"  But  she  should  think,"  replied  Margaret  very 
firmly.  "  Want  of  thought  is  no  excuse  for  her. 
I  hope  you  won't  copy  any  of  her  manners." 

"  Never  fear  that,"  returned  Bessie.  "  Cousin, 
what  do  you  think  of  it  !  "  continued  she,  turning 
to  Miss  Noble. 

"  I  was  thinking  what  a  strange  opinion  her 
teacher  would  have  of  the  manners  of  American 
people.  Judging  from  what  I  have  heard,  one 
might  teach  in  all  the  schools  of  Europe,  and  never 
meet  with  such  an  unprovoked  insult." 


18  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"You  are  right,  Coz,"  said  Edward,  laying 
down  the  book  which  he  had  been  perusing.  "  I 
do  not  know  what  is  the  reason,  but  it  seems  to 
me  our  people,  young  people,  especially — glancing 
at  Bessie  —  think  they  have  the  privilege  of  being 
rude  to  foreigners,  laughing  at  their  mistakes,  and 
betraying  them  into  them.  Our  free  country, 
perhaps,  favors  such  freedom." 

"  But  Monsieur  was  certainly  ungentlemanly  to 
get  so  vexed,"  rather  quickly  spoke  Bessie. 

"  Many  foreigners  would  not  regard  it  exactly 
ungentlemanly,"  replied  Edward.  "  They  con- 
sider it  only  honest  and  proper  self-respect  to  re- 
sent an  insult  in  such  a  manner,  and  do  -not  regard 
self-control  as  we  do.  I  have  heard  it  remarked 
that  they  consider  us  deceitful,  because  we  endeav- 
or to  conceal  and  control  our  feelings  on  such 
occasions." 

"  We  control  ourselves,  brother  Ned  !  Who 
did  I  hear  talking  very  loudly  to  the  groom  the 
other  day,  because  his  horse  didn't  look  just  so," 
questioned  Bessie,  slightly  patting  her  brother's 
shoulder  the  while. 

"  I  did  not  speak  of  myself,  individually,"  re- 
turned he,  "  I  spoke  of  our  nation  in  general  — 
those  people  who  do  pretend  to  be  good,  who  do 
control  themselves,  like  Margaret,  for  instance." 

A  slight  tone  of  sarcasm  was  visible  in  these  last 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  19 

words,  but  Margaret  did  not  reply  ;  she  only  bent 
her  head  a  little  lower  over  her  work,  to  raise  it 
instantly  as  the  door  bell  rang. 

"  I  wonder  who  that  is,"  said  Louise,  starting 
from  the  lounge,  and  arranging  her  tumbled 
dress. 

"  Not  any  of  your  friends,  I  think,"  replied  Bes- 
sie, "it* is  too  stormy  an  eve  for  them  to  venture 
out." 

"  Some  one  to  see  father,"  said  Edward,  as  he 
heard  a  person  entering  the  library. 

"  And  I'll  go  up  to  mother  now,"  added  Bessie, 
starting  off  hastily,  but  moderating  her  pace  some- 
what as  she  ascended  the  stairs.  Passing  through 
the  entry,  and  by  her  father  who  was  descending 
to  the  library,  she  opened  the  door  noiselessly  and 
soon  was  bending  over  a  pale,  languid  lady  re- 
clining on  a  lounge.  Tenderly  kissing  her,  she 
drew  up  a  low  chair  and  seated  herself  on  it,  then 
said  in  low  sweet  tones, 

"  O  mamma,  dear  mamma,  you  do  not  know 
how  I  shall  miss  these  pleasant  times  with  you 
when  you  are  gone,  and  to  think  this  is  to  be  the 
last.  I'm  so  glad  that,  that  gentleman  called  father 
away,  that  1  may  be  all  alone  with  you  once  more. 
How  I  shall  miss  you." 

"  I  know  you  will,"  returned  her  mother,  taking 
Bessie's  hand  into  her  thin,  wasted  one,  "  and  I 


20  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

shall  miss  you,  too.  You  have  been  a  great  com- 
fort and  help  to  me,  even  if  you  have  been  some- 
times heedless  and  trying." 

"  But  mamma,  who  will  correct  me  now  you  are 
gone  ?  Margaret  is  so  severe,  and  Ned  —  well, 
sometimes  I  care  for  what  he  says,  and  sometimes 
I  do  not ;  and  as  for  the  rest,  well,  I  don't  mind 
them  much." 

"You  forget,  Bessie,  your  aunt  Livingston 
will  be  here,  and  I  know  you  will  love  her." 

"  O  yes,  I  did  forget  her,"  replied  Bessie,  "  but 
she  is  such  a  stranger  to  me,  it  will  take  me  a  long 
while  to  feel  acquainted." 

"  Not  so  long  as  you  imagine,"  returned  Mrs. 
Huntingdon,  "  she  is  very  sociable.  I  hope,  Bes- 
sie you  will  be  as  kind  and  obedient  to  her  as  you 
are  to  me." 

"  I  shall  try,  mamma,  but" 

"  But  what,  Bessie  ?  " 

"  No  matter  now,  it  is  something  I  ought  not  to 
say." 

"  Yery  well,  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Huntingdon, 
li  But  is  there  not  something  you  do  wish  to 
say  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bessie,  a  little  absently,  for  she 
had  been  following  up  her  thought,  which  was  that 
she  was  afraid  the  whole  family  would  not  en- 
deavor to  please  Mrs.  Livingston,  but  she  refrain- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  21 

from  expressing  it,  having  been  often  charged  by 
her  father  to  avoid  anything  which  might  prove 
unpleasant  to  Mrs.  H — — ,  connected  with  her 
departure. 

"  Well,  tell  me  now,"  said  her  mother,  "  we 
may  not  have  as  good  an  opportunity  before  I 
leave." 

"  Oh  !  mamma,  I  can't  believe  you  are  going, 
and  I  shall  not  till  you  are  really  gone.  Now, 
what  I  wish  to  say  is  this,  that  while  you  are 
gone  you'll  forget  all  my  naughty  deec  s,  and  think 
of  me  only  as  Bessie,  your  comfort,  as  you  call  me 
sometimes,  and  that  you'll  think  of  me  every  night 
at  six  o'clock,  and  I  will  of  you." 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  I  probably  shall  think  of  you  only 
as  my  comfort,"  returned  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  fond- 
ly, while  she  smoothed  Bessie's  hair,  who  had  left 
her  chair  and  was  now  kneeling  by  her  mother's 
lounge.  "  And  be  assured,"  continued  she,  "  I 
shall  not  only  think  of  you  at  six  o'clock,  but  pray 
for  you,  too  ;  and  now  I  have  also  a  request  to 
make,  that  at  that  time  you  will  pray  and  read  the 
little  Bible  I  gave  you.  Commence  at  the  first 
chapter  in  Matthew,  and  I  will  also,  .and  then 
every  night  we  shall  be  reading  the  same  chapter." 

u  Yes,  mamma,  I  will,"  sadly  returned  Bessie, 
"  and  it  will  be  very  pleasant  to  think  we  are 
reading  the  same  chapter,  but,  dear  me !  it  does 


22  THE   HUNTINGDON** :    OE, 

not  make  me  any  better  to  read  my  Bible  and  to 
pray." 

"  Because  you  do  not  read  and  pray  earnestly, 
Bessie,  and  in  a  right  manner.  O,  I  had  hoped 
ere  this  to  have  seen  you  a  Christian,  and  that 
you  would  consider  the  Bible  the  most  precious  of 
all  books.  You  can  hardly  imagine  the  comfort, 
the  inexpressible  comfort  it  has  been  to  me.  God 
grant  you  may  find  it  so." 

Here  Bessie  raised  her  head,  and  gazing  won- 
deringly  at  her  mother,  said, 

"  How  strange  this  religion  is  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is   a  mystery,"  replied   Mrs.  H , 

"  a  great  mystery,  and  to  be  known,  must  be  ex- 
perienced. Go  to  the  table  there  and  bring  me 
my  little  Bible.     I  wish  you  to  read  some  verses." 

Bessie  procured  the  Bible,  and  her  mother  con- 
tinued :  "  Turn  to  1  Corinthians  ii.  7-16."  Bes- 
sie found  the  place  and  read, 

"  But  we  speak  the  wisdom  of  God  in  a  mys- 
tery, even  the  hidden  wisdom  which  God  ordained 
before  the  world  unto  our  glory ;  which  none  of 
the  princes  of  this  world  knew  :  for  had  they 
known  it,  they  would  not  have  crucified  the  Lord 
of  glory.  But  as  it  is  written,  eye  hath  not  seen 
nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man,  the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  him.     But  God  hath  revealed  them 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER  LIFE.  23 

unto  us  by  His  Spirit ;  for  the  Spirit  searcheth  all 
things,  yea  the  deep  things  of  God.  For  what 
man  knoweth  the  things  of  a  man,  save  the  spirit 
of  man  which  is  in  him  ?  even  so  the  things  of 
God  knoweth  no  man,  but  the  Spirit  of  God. 
Now  we  have  received,  not  the  spirit  of  the  world, 
but  the  Spirit  which  is  of  God  ;  that  we  might 
know  the  things  that  are  freely  given  to  us  of 
God.  Which  things  also  we  speak,  not  in  the 
words  which  man's  wisdom  teacheth,  but  which 
the  Holy  Ghost  teacheth ;  comparing  spiritual 
things  with  spiritual.  But  the  natural  man  re- 
ceiveth  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of  God :  for 
they  are  foolishness  unto  him :  neither  can  he 
know  them,  because  they  are  spiritually  discerned. 
But  he  that  is  spiritual  judgeth  all  things,  yet  he 
himself  is  judged  of  no  man.  For  who  hath 
known  the  mind  of  the  Lord,  that  he  may  instruct 
him  ?     But  we  have  the  mind  of  Christ." 

"That  is  sufficient,"  said  Mrs.  Huntingdon. 
"  Now  turn  to  2  Cor.  4.,  commencing  at  "  But  if 
our  Gospel  be  hid." 

Bessie  found  the  place  and  continued,  "  But  if 
our  Gospel  be  hid,  it  is  hid  to  them  that  are  lost : 
in  whom  the  God  of  this  world  hath  blinded  the 
minds  of  them  which  believe  not,  lest  the  light  of 
the  glorious  Gospel  of  Christ,  who  is  the  image  of 
God,  should  shine  unto  them.     For  we  preach — " 


24  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Mrs.  H ,  interrupting 

her. 

"  So,  then,  my  mind  must  be  blinded  too,"  said 
Bessie,  as  she  closed  the  book. 

"  Yes,"  returned  her  mother,  "  blinded  by  sin 
and  Satan,  and  this  reminds  me  to  say,  that  I  wish 
you  would  pray  two  short  prayers  which  were 
given  once,  by  a  gentleman  in  Scotland,  to  a  poor 
serving  maid,  and  were  instrumental  in  her  salva- 
tion :  '  Lord,  show  me  myself.'  '  Lord,  show  me 
Thyself.'     Will  you." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  cannot  refuse  you,"  and  fold- 
ing her  hands  tightly  together,  Bessie  sighed 
heavily  a  number  of  times,  forcing  back  a  heart 
full  of  tears — tears  which  tender  solicitude  for  her 
mother's  precarious  state,  told  her  must  not  be 
shed.  While  gazing  at  the  little  Bible  which  lay 
in  her  lap  she  suddenly  exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  believe  I  should  love  to  read 
the  Bible  better,  if  you  would  leave  me  yours,  it 
is  marked  in  so  many  places,  and  I  should  know 
what  verses  you  have  loved.     Will  you  not?  " 

Mrs.  H was  silent  awhile,  then  said,  "  Yes 

dear,  you  may  have  it,  and  never,  never  part  with 
it." 

But  Bessie  had  seen  the  struggle  it  had  cost 
her  mother  to  give  it  up,  and  quickly  said, 

"  No,  mamma,  1  will   not   ask  for  your  Bible, 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  25 

you  must  love  it  so  much  —  it  was  very  selfish  in 
me" — and  she  started  to  put  it  away. 

"  Stop,"  returned  her  mother.  "  I  did  feel  a 
pang  at  first  in  parting  with  it,  but  it  is  all  gone 
now,  and  I  prefer  that  you  should  have  it.  You 
can  give  me  your  little  one,  and  I  shall  prize  it 
highly." 

"  Dear  mamma,  you  are  too  kind,"  replied  Bes- 
sie, "  how  can  I  take  it"  —  a  few  tears  now  drop- 
ping in  spite  of  herself. 

She  took  it  though  from  her  mother's  hands, 
and  while  turning  the  leaves  over  said,  "  Oh,  I 
wish  that  all  Christians  were  like  you  !  " 

Her  mother  sighed  at  this  remark,  but  made  no 
response.  She  knew  Bessie  would  find  her  aunt 
Livingston  a  consistent  Christian,  and  trusted 
much  good  would  result  to  Bessie  from  her  ex- 
ample. 

None  of  the  Huntingdon  family  were  professors 
of  religion,  save  Mrs.  Huntingdon  and  Margaret. 
Mrs.  Huntingdon  had  embraced  religion  in  early 
life,  but  Margaret  had  only  been  a  professor  six 
months.  Margaret's  belief  and  ideas  of  Christian 
life  will  be  developed  hereafter ;  suffice  it  to  say 
they  did  not  exert  a  beneficial  influence  over  the 
family. 

The  mother  and  daughter  sat  for  some  time  in 
silence,   then,    hearing   her   husband's   returning 


26  THE   HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

footsteps,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  said,  "  Bessie,  turn  to 
the  14th  chap,  of  St.  John."  Bessie  found  the 
place  just  as  Mr.  Huntingdon  entered  the  room, 
who  advanced  immediately  to  his  wife's  side  and 
read  searchingly  the  loved  face,  to  see  if  it  bore 
traces  of  weariness. 

"  Everything  is  ready,"  said  he,  finally,  "  and 
we  leave  to-morrow  at  four  o'clock. 

"  Mortimer,"  replied  his  wife,  in  a  trembling 
tone,  "  this,  then,  may  be  the  last  night  I  shall  be 
in  my  earthly  home.  I  must  see  you  all  together, 
and  —  and  pray  with  you  all.  Do  not  deny  me  !  " 
and  she  anxiously  looked  up  for  consent.  She 
met  the  clear,  pleasant  smile  of  a  loving,  though 
disbelieving  husband,  who  replied, 

"  Certainly  not,  dear,  if  it  would  please  you. 
Shall  I  call  the  children,  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  O  yes,  children,  servants,  all,  returned 
the  excited  and  anxious  mother. 

"  Let  me  just  whisper  '  be  calm,'  "  responded  he, 
bending  fondly  over  her. 

"  I  will,"  said  she,  folding  her  hands  quietly 
over  her  breast  and  closing  her  eyes,  while  her 
husband  left  the  room  to  do  her  bidding. 

"  The  famity  were  rather  surprised  at  such  a 
request,  but  ere  many  minutes  past,  they  were  all 
assembled  in  her  room,  quiet  and  sad,  waiting  for 
her  to  assume  the  cross  she  had  determined  to 
take  up,  weary  and  faint  though  she  was. 


GLIMPSES     OF  INNER  LIFE.  27 

"  Eead  that  chapter,  Bessie,"  said  she,  in  a 
faint  voice. 

Bessie  glanced  about  a  little,  hesitatingly,  and 
then  her  eyes  resting  upon  her  loved  mother's  face, 
she  commenced  in  low  tones,  "  Let  not  your  heart 
be  troubled."  Not  a  word  was  uttered,  and  as 
Bessie  concluded,  the  wife  and  mother  clasped 
her  hands,  and  in  trembling  tones  said,  "  Let  us 
pray." 

All  bowed  in  prayer,  and  then  arose  the  out- 
gushings  of  that  Christ-filled  heart.  It  was  truly 
a  blessed  season  with  her  Father,  and  the  sobs 
and  sighs,  and  the  deep  silence,  told  that  that 
prayerless  household  had  once  felt  the  effect  of 
true,  fervent  prayer. 

Yery  low  and  sad  were  the  "  good  nights,"  and 
quietly  each  one  departed  from  her,  who  was  so 
lovely,  so  precious  in  their  sight. 

The  husband  alone  remained, — remained  sitting 
with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hand.  Finally  he 
said  : 

"  Maggie,  dear,  where  is  that  little  Bible  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  Bessie  has  it,"  returned  the  wife,  "  but  here 
is  hers,  we  exchanged  Bibles  to-night,"  and  she 
passed  it  to  him.  He  took  it,  and  long  perused  its 
sacred  pages  while  Mrs.  H's  silent  petitions  as- 
cended,   that  it  might  be  blessed  to  him. 


28  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  This  is  beautiful  and  sublime,"  said  he,  at 
last,  while  placing  it  on  the  table  ;  "  I  wish  I  could 
believe  in  it,"  but  his  wife  heard  him  not,  for, 
wearied  and  worn  with  excitement,  she  had  fallen 
asleep.  He  gazed  at  her,  and  marked  the  pleas- 
ant, serene  smile,  and  thought,  "  There  must  be  a 
strange  power  in  this  religion.  How  different 
she  has  seemed  these  last  two  or  three  years.  I 
cannot  understand  it.  I  must  examine  into  it, 
and  I  shall  have  an  excellent  opportunity  in  Flori- 
da ;  "  then  striking  the  bell,  he  summoned  the 
nurse,  and  descended  into  the  library. 

As  he  entered,  some  one  started  in  the  room, 
and  attempted  to  escape  by  him.  Putting  out 
his  arm,  he  enfolded  Bessie,  and  turning  up  the 
gas,  said : 

"  You  here  ;  why  do  you  wish  to  leave  me, 
pet  ?  Don't  sob  so,  dear ;  "  then  leading  her  rto 
his  arm-chair,  he  seated  her  on  his  knee,  and  ten- 
derly tried  to  soothe  her  grief.  u  Be  calm,  Bessie 
dear,"  said  he.  "  We  shall  soon  be  back,  and  per- 
haps your  dear  mother  may  return  quite  recover- 
ed." 

"  No  father,"  replied  she,  sobbingly.  "  Mamma 
is  too  good  for  this  world.  I  shall  never  see  her 
more  on  earth,  and  I  am  not  fit  to  go  to  heaven. 
And  you  —  Oh  !  father,  you  are  not  a  Christian. 
Will  you  go  to  heaven  ?  " 


GLIMPSES  OF    INKER  LIFE.  29 

The  strong  man  started,  his  heart  was  pierced 
as  with  a  dart  ;  one  tear  fell,  and  he  moaned,  "  I 
fear  not,  Bessie,  unless,  unless  —  " 

"  Unless  what  ?  "  said  she,  anxiously. 

"  Unless  I  become  like  your  mother." 

"Well,  why  don't -you?"  still  eagerly  ques- 
tioned Bessie.     "  Let  us  both  begin  together." 

"  Yes,  dear,  we  will,"  returned  the  perplexed 
father,  recalling  his  determination  to  examine  the 
matter. 

"  Shall  I  pray  first,  or  you,  father  ?  "  continued 
Bessie. 

"  Pray  !  "  and  he  gazed  anxiously  at  her,  "  you 
can  pray  ;  "  but  he  could  not  humble  himself — 
Satan  prevailed  ;  and  Bessie,  seeing  his  perplexi- 
ty, and  fearing  she  had  committed  some  error, 
said  : 

"  I  hardly  know  what  I  have  said,  I  feel  so  bad. 
Perhaps  you  prefer  to  pray  alone,"  and  rising, 
she  kissed  him,  and  bade  him  good  night,  and  he 
permitted  her  to  depart. 

Bessie  felt  the  eifect  of  his  manner,  and  her 
prayers,  though  more  penitent  and  earnest,  were 
chilled  by  the  remembrance  of  it. 

Mr.  Huntingdon  remained  thoughtful  a  few 
moments,  then  his  eyes  fell  upon  some  important 
papers  in  his  library,  which  required  attention  be- 
fore his  departure,  and  in  a  few  moments  his  mind 


30  THE   HUNTINGDONS. 

was  engrossed  by  them,  and  prayerless,  and  with 
thoughts  full  upon  earthly  matters,  he  retired  to 
rest. 

The  Holy  Spirit,  the  One  who  so  sweetly  ad- 
monishes of  wrong,  and  fain  would  lead  to  Christ, 
was  grieved,  and  thus  departed. 


CHAPTER  III. 

r  j^HE  next  day,  at  noon,  Mrs.  Livingston  ar- 
rived at  Hiil-side,  and  found  the  Hunting- 
don family  in  all  that  confusion  and  excitement  in- 
cident to  the  departure  of  friends.  After  ex- 
changing greetings  with  her  brother  and  nieces, 
she  passed  directly  to  the  room  of  Mrs.  Hunt- 
ingdon, and  noiselessly  entering,  seated  herself 
beside  her  most  cherished  friend,  as  well  as  sister. 

"  Maggie,  dear,  I  have  come,"  said  she,  as  she 
took  Mrs.  Huntingdon's  hand,  and  imprinted  a 
kiss  upon  her  pale  forehead. 

"Yes,  Lizzie,  I  knew  you  would,"  returned 
Mrs.  H.,  pressing  the  hand  of  her  sister ;  "  and 
Oh  I  has  Mortimer  told  you  ?  " 

"  Told  me  what  ?  "returned  Mrs.  L. 

"Told  you  that  I  prayed  with  them  all  last 
night  ;  but,  Lizzie,  it  was  not  I,  it  was  Christ  in 
me.  I  thought  I  could  not  say  a  word,  but  I 
opened  my  mouth,  and  Christ  filled  it ;  and  Oh  ! 
He  has  been  so  precious  to  me  since." 

Mrs.  L.  was  in  tears,  but  hastily  brushing  them 
away,  she  only  said, 


32  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  Maggie,  I  am  very,  very  glad." 

"  Yes,  I  knew  you  would  be,  and  now,  Lizzie, 
I  leave  them  all  in  your  care.  I  may  never  see 
them  again,  and  I  pray  you  teach  them  the  same 
Christianity  you  taught  me.  Bessie  seems  quite 
thoughtful,  and  Margaret  —  well,  you  understand 
her  —  and  the  rest,  lead  tn*em  gently,  gently, 
though  I  know  I  need  not  say  it,  you  will." 

"  I  shall  try  to,  God  helping  me,"  returned 
Mrs.  L.,  sadly,  for  she  felt,  too,  these  might  be 
the  last  words  of  her  sister,  and  she  was  cherish- 
ing sacredly  every  one. 

"  Lizzie,"  continued  Mrs.  H.,  "  I  wish  you 
would  take  that  little  key,  (pointing  to  one  on  the 
table  beside  her,)  and  unlock  my  writing  desk, 
and  bring  me  the  package  you  will  see  on  the  top, 
directed  to  you." 

Mrs.  L.  did  as  requested,  and  brought  it  to  her, 
who  folded  it  in  her  hands  on  her  bosom,  closed 
her  eyes,  and  was  evidently  in  prayer  some  mo- 
ments ;  then  she  reached  it  to  Mrs.  L.,  and  said, 

"  There,  it  is  mine  no  longer.  I  give  it  into 
your  care,  and  if  I  do  not  return,  open  it ;  but 
treasure  it  sacredly,  for  it  may  be  the  last  work  of 
my  life." 

Mrs.  Livingston  took  the  package,  and  placed 
it  carefully  away,  then  returning,  said,  "  Mag- 
gie, I  would'nt  talk   any  longer,  unless  you  have 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER    LIFE.  33 

something  important  to  tell  me  about.  You  must 
try  and  get  some  rest,  before  you  start." 

"I  wish  I  could  sleep,"  returned  Mrs.  H."  I 
know  I  sliould  be  better  prepared  for  this  after- 
noon ;  but  my  brain  is  so  active  to-day,  I  can 
scarcely  quiet  myself  enough  to  do  so." 

"Think  of  Christ,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  "and 
you  may  be  able  to  compose  yourself.  I  heard 
some  time  since,  of  a  very  pious  lady,  suffering 
the  same  as  you  are,  who,  whenever  she  was  trou- 
bled by  wakefulness,  would  place  her  mind  upon 
Christ  and  his  sufferings,  and  would  soon  find  her- 
self quieted,  and  able  to  sleep." 

"  How  beautiful !  "  returned  Mrs.  H.,  "  resting 
on  Jesus.  Yes,  I  can  rest  there,  too  ;"  and,  clos- 
ing her  eyes,  she  soon  slept  tranquilly. 

Three  o'clock  came,  and  tender,  loving  hands, 
placed  the  light  form  of  Mrs.  Huntingdon  in  the 
carriage,  destined  to  convev  her  to  the  steam-boat. 
Weary  with  the  sad  "  good  by's,"  and  loving 
words  of  her  servants,  she  sank  back  into  the  sup- 
porting arms  of  her  husband,  who  tenderly  en- 
folded and  comforted  her.  As  the  coachman 
started,  Mrs.  Huntingdon  turned  her  head  a  little, 
and  gave  one  long  look  at  her  home,  her  dearly 
loved  home  ;  then  said,  "  Good-bye,  sweet  home, 
forever  !  " 

"  No,    Maggie    dear,"    returned    her   husband, 


34  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :     OR, 

cheerily,  "  do  not  speak  so,  for  next  spring,  no 
doubt,  you  will  enter  it  gaily,  saying,  '  welcome 
home  !  '  " 

She  made  no  reply.  Another  carriage  follow- 
ed, and  ere  long  they  were  all  at  the  steam-boat, 
and  by  her  side,  each  one  endeavoring  to  do'  some 
further  act  of  kindness,  but  which  her  attentive 
nurse  forestalled.  Soon  the  bell  sounded,  and 
one  by  one,  each  took  a  last  fond  caress,  and  heard 
the  fervent  "  God  bless  you,  my  child,  and  lead 
you  to  Him,"  of  their  departing  mother. 

Sadly  they  passed  down  the  gangway,  and  to 
the  carriage,  then  entering,  dropped  the  curtains, 
and  gave  way  to  the  flood  of  grief,  all  had  re- 
strained the  past  few  days. 

The  same  feeling  oppressed  each  heart,  that 
they  should  never  see  mother  again  ;  and  Bessie 
and  Margaret  mourned  for  her  as  though  she  had, 
indeed,  parted  from  them  for  ever. 

It  was  a  sad  family  that  sat  down  to  tea  that 
night.  Edward  took  his  father's  place  ;  and 
glancing  around  for  Margaret,  who  had  long  tak- 
en her  mother's  place,  he  found  her  absent. 

"  Where's  Margaret  ?  "  said  he,  to  Louise. 

"  In  her  rooru,"  replied  Louise  ;  "  she  does  not 
wish  any  supper." 

"  Pshaw  !  what's  the  use  of  acting  so,"  return- 
ed Edward ;  "  empty  places  enough  without  her 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER  LIFE.  35 

taking  herself  off.  I  suppose  she  thinks  it  will  be 
exceedingly  proper  for  her  to  remain  in  retirement 
for  a  week." 

"  Are  you  waiting  for  me  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Living- 
ston, as  she  entered  the  room,  and  seated  herself 
in  the  place  Margaret  usually  filled  ;  and,  without 
waiting  for  a  reply,  continued,  "  Where's  Marga- 
ret?" 

"  Doing  penance,"  replied  Edward. 

"  Penance  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  returned  she, 
pleasantly. 

"  O  !  shutting  herself  up  in  her- room,  and  tor- 
turing herself  with  all  sort  of  foolish  fears  and 
imaginations." 

"  Perhaps  she  does  not  feel  well,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
L.,  quietly,  and  then  she  glanced  about  question- 
ingly.  She  was  waiting  for  a  blessing,  but  as  the 
sudden  thought  came  that  there  was  no  one  to  ask 
it  but  herself,  she  hesitated,  and  Edward,  perceiv- 
ing it,  hastened  to  commence  serving  from  the 
various  dishes  before  him,  inwardly  exulting  that 
he  had  prevented  it.  As  he  raised  his  eyes,  how- 
ever, he  saw  her  bent  head,  and  knew  that  a  silent 
one  was  ascending,  all  the  more  powerful  in  its  ef- 
fects upon  the  family,  from  being  silent  just  then. 

Miss  ISToble  was  the  first  to  speak,  commencing 
the  previous  subject. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  agree   with   you,  cousin 


36  THE     HUNTINGDON'S  I    OR, 

Ned,  regarding  Margaret ;  "  for  my  part,  I  think 
it  is  my  duty  to  drive  away  sorrow  when  it  can't 
be  cured." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Louise,  "  so  what  will  we  do 
this  evening  to  enjoy  ourselves.  What  do  you 
say,  Ned?" 

"  Me  !    do  you  mean  me  ?  "  replied  he,  a  little 

absently.       "O,    I  have    an   engagement    at   the 

Club." 

"  That    detestable    Club  !  "    returned   Louise  ; 

"  you  might  as  well  live  there,  for  all  the  compa- 
ny you  are  ever  to  your  sisters.  Now  I  was 
thinking  about  attending  the  concert  this  eve  to 
drive  away  the  blues,  and  thought  perhaps  you 
would  be  willing  to  attend  Georgie  and  me,"  turn- 
ing to  Miss  Noble. 

"  I  should  be  very  happy  to  accompany  Miss 
Noble,"  replied  Edward,  bowing  to  her,  "  and 
would  permit  you  also  to  go,"  glancing  provok- 
ingly  at  his  sister,  "if  it  was  not  for  this  engage- 
ment ;  as  it  is,  you  must  find  some  other  gallant, 
young  Baker,  for  instance." 

Louise  colored,  and  quickly  replied,  "  Edward, 
I  wish  you  would  never  mention  him  again ;  you 
know  I  dislike  him  exceedingly." 

"  Ah  !  I  was  not  aware  of  it  before,"  replied  he. 
Were  you,   Miss  Noble  ?  " 

"  Oh  !    cease    your  contentions,"   replied  she  ; 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNEE  LIFE.  37 

and  turning  to  Mrs.  Livingston,  said,  "This  con- 
versation must  be  highly  edifying  to  you." 

Mrs.  L.  smiled,  and  said,  "  Really,  I  hardly 
know  what  you  have  been  saying,  I  have  been  so 
busily  thinking." 

"  And  Bessie,  too,"  said  Edward,  shaking  her 
chair.  "  What's  the  matter  of  you,  child?  you 
look  as  pale  as  a  ghost." 

"  Do  I,"  returned  she,  weariedly.  "  "Well,  my 
head  aches  a  little,  and  I  believe  I'll  be  excused," 
glancing  at  her  aunt. 

After  her  departure,  Mrs.  L.  tried  to  open  con- 
versation on  various  subjects,  but  all  in  vain,  no 
one  seemed  disposed  to  reply. 

Edward  hurried  his  tea  as  quickly  as  possible, 
then  immediately  passed  up  to  Bessie's  room.  He 
tried  the  door,  but  found  it  locked.  Then  he 
knelt  down,  and  said,  through  the  key  hole,  "  Bes- 
sie, pet,  let  brother  in  just  a  moment." 

She  started  from  the  lounge,  where  she  had 
flung  herself,  and  quickly  opened  the  door. 

He  wound  his  arms  about  her,  and  leading  her 
to  the  lounge,  sat  her  down  beside  him.  "  Now, 
pet,"  commenced  he,  while  stroking  back  he*r  curls, 
"  you  feel  very  badly,  I  know  ;  and,  I  presume, 
none  of  us  will  miss  father  and  mother  as  much  as 
you  will ;  bat  I  wish  you  to  feel  '  what  can't  be 
cured  must  be  endured,'  and  get  up  a  brave  heart, 


£>5  THE   HUXTIXGDONS  :    OB, 

and  be  a  woman  about  this  matter.  Don't  go  to 
acting  like  Margaret,  making  yourself  a  perfect 
martyr,  and  going  about  the  house  with  a  face  that 
haunts  every  one  you  meet.  Smile,  pet,  even  if 
your  heart  does  ache.  Smile  on  me  anyway  ; 
precious  £ew  of  such  comforts  I  get." 

She  glanced  lovingly  up  at  mm,  and  twining 
her  arm  around  his  neck,  said,  while  she  choked 
away  the  rising  sob,  "Yes,  brother,  you  shall  have 
smiles  from  me,  if  you'll  promise  me  one  thing.' 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  returned  he. 

"  That  you  won't  abuse  Margaret  so  much,  nor 
plague  Louise ;  you  know  they  can't  bear  your 
banterings  as  I  do,  and  do  you  know  you  cause 
them  a  great  deal  of  unhappiness  !  :' 

"  Then  they  may  improve,  and  try  to  please 
me,"  returned  he. 

"  But  you  know,  Edward,  that  is  not  the  way 
to  win  them  to  it.  Don't  you  recollect  how  many 
times  you've  told  me  about  the  conquering  power 
of  love  ?     You  know  you  are  wrong." 

"Well,"  replied  he,  rising  and  glancing  at  his 
figure  in  the  mirror,  "  you  smile  on  me,  and  I'll 
cultivate  gentleness  with  my  dove  like  sisters." 

"  There  it  is  again,"  said  Bessie. 

"  Oh  !  so  it  is,"  returned  Edward,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon ;  but  the  fact  is,  it  will  be  a  pretty  hard 
habit  to  rid  myself  of,  and  if  you  see  me  refrain 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  39 

from  it,  even  once  or  twice  a  day,  you  must  be 
content." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  she,  and  then  she  rose  and 
passed  to  the  window,  while  Edward  turned  to  go 
out,  but  stopped  as  he  passed  the  bed,  and  taking 
up  a  little  book  which  lay  there,  said,  "  O,  you 
rogue !  been  reading  a  novel,  hey  !  "  but  he  said 
no  more  as  he  opened  it. 

"  It  is  mother's  Bible,"  said  Bessie,  leaning  her 
head  against  the  window.  "  I  have  been  trying 
to  read  in  it,  but  my  head  ached  so,  I  could'nt." 

"  Well,  I  would'nt  try  to  Bessie,  you  are  good 
enough,  any  way,"  returned  Edward,  laying  the 
book  aside  more  reverently  than  he  took  it. 

"No,  Edward,  I  am  not,"  and  she  advanced  to 
his  side  with  an  evident  determination  to  say 
more  written  on  her  face,  which  he  comprehend- 
ing, prevented,  by  saying,  "  Well,  pet,  I  must 
be  off;  but  don't  let  me  find  you  up  here  on 
my  return.  I  think  I  shall  be  back  early  to-night. 
Go  down  soon,  and  talk  to  aunt  Livingston  ;  she 
seems  to  be  a  kind,  comforting  sort  of  a  body," 
and  whistling  a  gay  opera  air,  he  disappeared. 

Two  hours  later  the  family,  save  Edward  and 
Margaret,  were  in  the  parlor  and  adjoining  libra- 
ry. Louise  sat  on  a  divan  at  one  end  of  the  par- 
lor, with  a  very  slight,  fair-haired  youth.  Bessie 
was  at  the  piano,  enjoying  snatches  of  songs,  with 
another  young  man,  who  stood  by  her  side,  while 


40  THE    HUNTINGDON'S  :    OR, 

Miss  Noble  and  Mrs.  Livingston  were  seated  in 
the  library,  and  apparantly  occupied  in  reading 
the  evening  papers  ;  but  every  now  and  then,  Miss 
Noble  would  glance  quizzically  over  the  top  of 
her  paper,  at  the  couple  on  the  divan,  whom  she 
could  plainly  see  through  the  folding  doors,  while 
Mrs.  Livingston's  eyes  only  rested  on  her  paper  ; 
her  thoughts  were  busv  elsewhere.  Sometimes 
she  was  startled  by  Bessie'  s  ringing  laugh  ;  and 
gazed  admiringly  at  her,  her  beauty  heightened 
to  its  utmost  by  her  occupation,  she  sat  thinking 
how  much  grace  she  needed,  to  guide  such  a  warm, 

O  O  7 

impulsive  nature,  correctly ;  then  turning  to 
Louise  she  marked  the  low  tones,  the  coquetish 
toss  of  her  head,  the  simpering  laugh,  and  felt  she 
would,  indeed,  be  a  more  difficult  task  than  Bes- 
sie. Pained  at  the  revelation  of  Louise's  charac- 
ter, which  she  had  gained  during  the  evening, 
and  feeling  in  a  new  sense  how  peculiarly  she  was 
placed,  she  was  just  determining  to  go  to  her  own 
room,  to  reflect  and  seek  guidance  from  above, 
when  the  young  man  beside  of  Louise,  arose,  and 
with  a  few  bows  and  words,  made  his  departure. 
Louise  closed  the  door  after  him,  and  a  little 
piqued  that  Mr.  Belmont's  attentions  had  been  so 
exclusively  devoted  to  Bessie,  she  passed  to  her, 
and  said,  leaning  over  her  shoulder,  "  Having  a 
delightful  time,  arn't  you,  Bessie  ?      I  sha'n't  tell 


GLIMPSES    OF     IXNLH     LIFE.  41 

you  how  much  I  envy  you,  you  can  imagine,"  and 
carelessly  pinching  the  burning  cheek  of  Bessie, 
she  passed  on  to  the  library. 

Yes,  Bessie's  cheek  did  burn,  and  her  heart 
ached  too,  at  Louise's  tantalizing  words,  and  man- 
ner ;  but  her  elastic  temperament  rebounded,  and 
glancing  first  timidly,  then  with  the  coming  breath, 
courageously  up  to  Mr.  Belmont,  she  asked, 
"  What  shall  we  sing  now  ?  " 

"  Where's  Louise's  book  of  sono;s  ?  "  returned 
he,  a  little  absently. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  she,  while  he  took  it  from  the 

music  rack,  and  opening  it  turned  to 

"  Thy  charms  are  but  fleeting 
Fair  lady  for  me. ' ' 

Bessie  read  with  quick  instinct,  his  feelings  and 
desire  of  retaliation  ;  she  felt  for  a  moment,  too, 
the  same  desire,  and  played  dashingly  through 
part  of  the  prelude,  then  suddenly  stopped,  abet- 
ter feeling  governing  her  and  turning  to  him^  said, 
"  No,  Mr.  Belmont,  I  don't  feel  like  smodnp;  it  • 
sing  something  sweet,  something  quiet,"  and  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves,  she  commenced 

Over  the  river  they  beckon  to  me, — 
Loved  ones  who've  crossed  to  the  further  side 

The  gleam  of  their  snowy  robes  I  see, 
But  their  voices  are  lost  in  the  dashing  tide. 

•There's  one  with  ringlets  of  sunny  gold, 


42  THE    HUNTINGDON S  ;    OR, 

And  eyes  the -reflection  of  heaven's  own  blue; 
He  crossed  in  the  twilight  gray  and  cold, 

And  the  pale  mist  hid  him  from  mortal  view; 
We  saw  not  the  angels  who  met  him  there, 

The  gates  of  the  city  we  could  not  see, — 
Over  the  river,  over  the  river, 

My  brother  stands  waiting  to  welcome  me  ! 

Over  the  river  the  boatman  pale 

Carried  another,  the  household  pet; 
Her  brown  curls  waved  in  the  gentle  gale,— 

Darling  Minnie  !  1  see  her  yet. 
She  crossed  on  her'  bosom  her  dimpled  hands, 

And  fearlessly  entered  the  phantom  bark, 
We  felt  it  glide  from  the  silver  sands, 

And  all  our  sunshine  grew  strangely  dark; 
We  know  she  is  safe  on  the  further  side, 

Where  all  the  ransomed  and  angels  be; 
Over  the  river,  the  mystic  river, 

My  childhood's  idol  is  waiting  for  me. 

For  none  return  from  those  quiet  shores, 

Who  cross  with  the  boatman  cold  and  pale; 
We  hear  the  dip  of  the  golden  oars, 

And  catch  a  gleam  of  the  snowy  sail; 
And  lo  !   they  have  passed  from  our  yearning  hearts, 

They  cross  the  stream  and  are  gone  for  aye. 
We  may  not  sunder  the  veil  apart 

That  hides  from  our  vision  the  gates  of  day; 
We  only  know  that  their  barks  no  more 

May  sail  with  us  o'er  life's  stormy  sea; 
Yet  somewhere  I  know  on  the  unseen  shore, 

They  watch,  and  beckon,  and  wait  for  me. 

And  I  sit  and  think  when  the  sunset's  gold 

Is  flushing  river  and  hill  and  shore, 
I  shall  one  day  stand  by  the  water  cold 


GLIMPSES    OF   HOfEB   LIFE.  43 

And  list  for  the  sound  of  the  boatman's  oar; 
I  shall  watch  for  a  gleam  of  the  napping  sail ; 

I  shall  hear  the  boat  as  it  gains  the  strand ; 
I  shall  pass  from  sight  with  the  boatman  pale, 

To  the  better  shore  of  the  spirit  land ;  • 
I  shall  know  the  loved  who  have  gone  before, 

And  joyfully  sweet  will  the  meeting  be, 
When  over  the  river,  the  peaceful  river, 
-  The.  angel  of  death  shall  carry  me. 

Bessie's  heart  was  full  of  sorrowful  emotion  ere 
she  had  suns;  two  stanzas,  but  crushing  down  her 
feelings,  she  continued  even  to  the  close,  then 
quietly  shutting  the  music  book,  she  placed  it  in 
the  rack,  to  hide  somewhat  her  emotion,  saying 
meanwhile, 

"  I  never  appreciated  that  song  before ;  how 
beautifully  sad  it  is  ;  it  makes  me  think  of  mother. 
I  wish  I  had  not  sunof  it  to-night." 

Mr.  Belmont  was  just  about  to  reply,  when 
Louise  advanced  from  the  library  and  said,  "  Oh, 
Bessie  !  how  sweetly  you  sang  that  song  !  "  then 
continued  in  lower  tones,  "  T'on't  mind  what  I 
said  just  now,  I  didn't  mean  it." 

Bessie  only  glanced  up  at  Louise  for  a  reply, 
but  the  confiding,  gentle  glance  assured  Louise  all 
was  forgiven. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

I^EN  o'clock  that  night  found  Edward  Hunt- 
ingdon and  Mr.  Belmont  seated  in  Edward's 
room.  Leaning  back  in  his  arm-chair  Edward 
said,  "Well,  Belmont,  my  father  and  mother 
are  really  gone,  and  thus  have  left  a  heavy  re- 
sponsibility on  my  shoulders  —  this  huge  mansion 
and  a  family  of  seven  women !  " 

"  Seven  !  "  returned  Belmont ;  "  how  do  you 
make  that  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seven  —  seven  women  ;  just  you  count, 
sir,  and  see.  My  good  Aunt  Livingston,  Marga- 
ret, Miss  Noble,  Louise,  Bessie  and  "  — 

"  And  who  else,  pray  ?  "  interrupted  his  friend. 

"  Why,  Mary  the  cook,  and  Jane  her  help- 
meet." 

"  Ah  !  yes.  I  didn't  think  of  them.  How- 
ever, you'll  probably  survive  all  your  care.  Be- 
sides, this  responsibility,  as  you  call  it,  will  benefit 
you  ;  steady  you  a  little.  Yes,  a  first-rate  thing 
for  you,  Ned  !  " 

"  Steady  me  !  Ha  1  ha  !  I  think  you  better 
talk  about  being   steadied;    you  who   totter  on 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  45 

everything  —  now  on  politics,  now  on  love,  then 
on  business,  then  religion." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  what  you  say  ? "  re- 
turned Belmont,  quizzically. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  said  Edward,  emphatically. 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,  you  must  be  mistaken," 
replied  Belmont  blandly  ;  "just  give  proof  of  it." 

"  Well,  some  time  ago,  if  my  memory  serves 
me  correctly,  you  were  an  out  and  out  Black  Re- 
publican—  now,  a  stronger,  a  more  conservative 
Union  man  does  not  exist.     Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  decidedly,  with  this  addenda :  I  was 
a  Black  Republican  because  my  father  was." 

"  Now,  then,  the  next  thing.  Let  me  see  —  O, 
love  ;  well,  there  was  that  pretty"  — 

"Drop  that  subject,  if  you  please,"  testily  in- 
terrupted Belmont. 

"  Well,  then,  business.  First,  you  thought  you'd 
be  a  civil  engineer,  and  studied  a  while  ;  then  a 
doctor,  and  now  —  well,  you  are  neither,  but 
rather  of  a  gentleman  at  large.  Don't  you  think 
here,  you  require  a  little  steadying  ?  As  our  old 
Prof.  Green  used  to  say,  4  Young  man,  young  man, 
you  must  have  an  object  in  view.' ' 

"  My  object  will  come  when  I  am  ready  for  it, 
replied  Belmont.  You  know  very  well  what  were 
the  circumstances  which  obliged  me  to  give  up 
surveying  ;  and  as  for  being  a  physician,  that  was 


46  THE   HUNTIXGDOXS  :     OR, 

never  a  wish  or  intention  of  mine.  I  mentioned 
it  to  yon,  because  my  friends,  especially  father, 
desired  it." 

Ah  !  was  that  so,"  returned  Edward.  "  Well, 
the  last  point  3^011  won't  dispute  with  me,  I  know  — 
religion.  When  we  entered  college,  you  were  an 
Orthodox  man." 

"  Boy,  you  mean,"  interrupted  Belmont. 

"  Well,  then,  boy,"  continued  Edward.  "  Then 
you  had  a  slight  partiality  for  Unitarianism." 

"  An  Unitarian  minister,  you  should  say." 

"  Well,  no  matter,  't  was  a  want  of  steadiness. 
Then  you  became  slightly  interested  in  Sweden- 
borg.     And,  finally,  when  you  were  in  the  city  of 

Gr ,  sat  under -'s  teaching.    Now,  sir,  what 

have  you  to  say !  "  triumphantly  exclaimed  Ed- 
ward, snapping  his  fingers. 

"  All  true,"  returned  Belmont  in  a  low,  sad 
tone,  as  he  ran  his  hands  again  and  again  through 
his  hair ;  but  Ned,  I  hope  soon  to  be  steadied.  I 
have  drifted  and  veered  worse  upon  religion  than 
any  other  subject.  I  was  in  earnest,  though,  seek- 
ing after  truth,  and,  like  many  other  men  filled  with 
self-conceit,  I  forsook  the  good  old  path  trodden 
by  so  many  veterans  in  the  cause,  and  attempted 
to  find  a  religion  which  I  thought  consistent  with 
my  ideas  of  the  desires  and  needs  of  man.  Fool ! 
that  I  have  been.     I  have  nearly  wrecked  myself 


GLIMPSES  OF  INJSTEE  LIFE.  47 

on  the  quicksands  of  speculation  and  fanaticism, 
and  now  I  hardly  know  where  I  am.  I  said  I 
hoped  soon  to  be  steadied,  but  truly  all  is  darkness 
abont  me.  And  you,  Ned,  why,  you  are  in  the 
same  condition." 

"Parsons  would  call  me  worse,"  replied  Ed- 
ward, with  a  forced  laugh,  "  for  you  see  your  state 
and  evidently  regret  it;  but  as  for  myself — well, 
I  don't  care  much,  it  will  come  right,  by-and-by." 

"  Where  ?  "  questioned  Belmont  mournfully. 

"  Where ? "  returned  Edward.  "Why —  why  — 
pshaw  !  don't  let  us  talk  of  this  any  more,  it  won't 
do  any  good,  only  gives  a  fellow  the  "  blues  ;  "  and, 
after  all,  I  don't  see  but  what  I  do  just  about  as 
well  as  half  the  church  members." 

"  Now,  Edward,  don't  make  such  a  shabby  eva- 
sion. What  have  you  to  do  with  their  sins  ?  To 
your  own  Master  you  stand  or  fall,  and  their  guilt 
won't  excuse  or  benefit  you  in  any  manner." 

"  'Spose  not,"  replied  Edward;  "but  now, 
won't  you  oblige  me  by  changing  the  subject  ?  I 
can't  talk  on  religion,  and,  what  is  more,  I  don't 
like  to." 

"  The  natural  heart  is  enmity  against  God," 
continued  Belmont. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that." 

"  Why  should  it  be  ?  " 

"  0,    don't   pester   me    any   longer    with  you* 


48  THE   HUNTIXGDOXS  r   OR, 

questions.  Go  to  Bessie.  I  found  her  reading 
the  Bible  to-day,  perhaps  she  can  tell  you." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  returned  Belmont  with  animation. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edward  ;  "  and  speaking  of  re- 
ligion reminds  me  to  tell  vou  of  last  night  in 
mother's  room.  I  never  shall  forget  it  —  no, 
never.  Mother  called  us  all  in,  and  prayed  with 
us;  and  how  she,  such  a  modest,  shrinking  woman, 
could  have  had  courage  to  do  such  a  thing,  I  can't 
possibly  imagine.  But  the  prayer,  Oh  !  Belmont, 
I  never  heard  such  a  prayer  before  from  any  per- 
son ;  it  seemed  to  me  she  was  actually  talking 
with  God.  I  think  mother  is  a  sincere  Christian, 
if  there  is  such  a  thing,  and  she  really  seems  to 
enjoy  it.  But  a  truce  to  this  conversation,  and  to 
cheer  us,  suppose  we  take  some  books." 

"  What  have  you,  new  and  interesting  ?  "  asked 
Belmont,  and  he  walked  up  to  Edward's  well 
filled  library.  He  looked  over  the  titles,  but  as  he 
gazed  at  one  after  the  other,  he  sighed,  and  said, 
"  Trash  !  trash  !  I  don't  want  any  such  books  to- 
night. I  believe  I'll  go  home  ;  good  bye  to  you," 
and  before  Edward  could  prevent  him,  he  was 
down  stairs,  and  out  of  the  house. 

"  Silly  fellow  !  "  said  Edward  to  himself ; 
"  what  is  the  use  in  his  tormenting  himself  so," 
and  passing  to  his  library,  he  took  down  a  work 
of  one   of  our  most  ingenious,    subtle,   and  false 


GLIMPS1  S  OF  INNER  LIFE.  49 

teachers  of  religion,  and   was  soon  both  bewilder- 
ed and  fascinated  by  the  entrancing  pages. 

He  was  satisfied,  because  the  ideas  appeared 
sublime,  and  of  deep  import ;  he  could  not  com- 
prehend many  of  them  —  a  very  jargon  of  com- 
pounded nouns,  and  high  sounding  adjectives ; 
but  then  this  incomprehensibility,  with  just  a 
shading  of  truth,  had  a  powerful  charm.  When 
he  did  meet  a  plain  truth,  however,  it  had  double 
force,  and  double  beauty  to  his  mind,  from  the 
darkness  which  surrounded  it.  It  was  a  late  hour 
ere  he  closed  the  book,  and  he  threw  it  aside,  say- 
ing, "  O,  what  a  mind  has  D  — ,  deep,  vigorous, 
broad.  Give  me  an  enlarged  mind,  able  to  grasp 
something  beside  the  nursery  stories  of  youth." 
His  reading  certainly  had  left  one  impression  on 
his  mind  —  the  power  of  man,  not  of  his  Crea- 
tor ! 

*  *  *  *  *•  * 

At  ten  o'clock  that  night,  Margaret  Hunting- 
don  was  pacing  up  and  down  her  chamber,  her 
hands  folded  tightly  over  her  pale  forehead.  Her 
eyes  were  swollen,  and  red  with  weeping,  and  every 
now  and  then  she  sighed  heavily.  Occasionally 
she  stopped,  and  glancing  upward,  murmured, 
"  Grod,  help  me,"  then  would  resume  her  sad  tread 
again.  A  low  knock  at  her  door  startled  her,  but 
she  gave  no  answer. 


50  THE   HTTNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  Margaret, "  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  softly, 
"  may  I  not  come  in  a  moment  ?  " 

Margaret  cast  an  imploring  look  above,  then 
around,  and  replied,  "  O  !  please  excuse  me  to- 
night ?  " 

"  I  do  not  like  to,"  returned  Mrs.  L.  "  Can 
you  not  let  me  see  .you  for  a  few  moments  ?  " 

Margaret  hesitated,  then  said,  "  In  a  moment." 
Quickly  she  drew  her  hair  from  behind  her  ears, 
smoothed  it  a  little,  and  then  turned  the  gas  some- 
what lower,  though  it  was  dim  before.  Then  she 
passed  to  the  door,  and,  unlocking  it,  just  opened 
it  a  little,  thereby  intimating  to  Mrs.  L.  that  she 
did  not  desire  her  to  come  further. 

But  Mrs.  Livingston  had  a  waiter  in  her  hand, 
with  toast  and  tea,  and,  therefore,  passed  directly 
in,  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  Turning  the  gas 
up,  she  said,  "  Now,  Margaret,  I  know  you  don't 
wish  to  see  me  to-night,  or  anybody  ;  but  I  want- 
ed to  see  you,  very  much,  and  have  you  eat  some- 
thing, too  ;  so  I  made  this  cup  of  tea,  and  toasted 
this  bread,  all  myself,  so  I  know  you  won't  refuse 
to  try  it." 

"  You  are  very  good,  aunt,"  returned  Margaret. 
"  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  really  —  " 

"  No  trouble,  dear,"  interrupted  Mrs.  L.,  "  a 
true  pleasure  for  me  ;  but  you  must  not  say  you 
cannot  eat.     I  know  all  about  the  feeling,  Marga- 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  51 

ret.  I  have  often  seen  the  time  when  I  thought 
food  would  choke  me  ;  but  I  ate,  ate  to  please 
others,  and  from  a  sense  of  duty." 

"  Do  you  think  it  a  duty  to  eat,"  quietly  re- 
turned Margaret. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  L.     "  Do  you  not  ?  " 
"  I  had  not  thought  of  it  in  such  a  light." 
"  Well,  I  can  assure  you  it  is  a  duty." 
Margaret    made   no    reply,    and    mechanically 
poured  out  the  tea,   sweetened   and  drank  it,  and 
then  eat  part  of  the  bread.     After  she  finished, 
Mrs.  Livingston  took  up  the  waiter ;  but  Marga- 
ret took  it  away  from  her,  saying,  "  Let  it  remain 
here,  I  will  carry  it  down  in  the  morning." 

"No,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  pleasantly,  "  I  wish  to 
finish  what  I  have  begun." 

"  But  I  will  not  allow  you  to  wait  on  me,"  said 
Margaret,  a  little  haughtily,  still  holding  on  to  the 
waiter.  "  I  will  carry  it  down,"  and  she  started 
away  with  it  quite  rapidly. 

Mrs.  L.  did  not  demur  again,  well  pleased  that 
it  would  divert  Margaret's  attention  from  herself, 
for  even  a  few  moments.  When  she  returned,  she 
found  Mrs.  Livingston  examining  her  books.  She 
passed  over  a  number,  and  finally  taking  down  the 
"  Words  of  Jesus,"  bound  with  "  The  Faithful 
Promisor,"  said,  "  O,  Margaret,  you  have  this  little 
gem  ;  how  much  comfort  and  instruction  have  I 
received  from  its  pages  !  " 


52  THE   EUXTIXGDOXS  :    OB, 

"  I  have  never  read  it,"  replied  Margaret.  "  Mr. 
Leslie  gave  it  to  rne  a  few  weeks  ago  ;  but  I  have 
not  had  time  to  look  into  it." 

"  Then  you  have  still  a  rich  treat  in  store,"  re- 
joined Mrs.  L.  "  If  you  wish  to  enjoy  it,  read  it 
as  I  have,  either  at  night  or  in  the  morning.  I 
have  been  greatly  surprised  at  times,  to  see  how 
peculiarly  appropriate  it  would  be  to  my  circum- 
stances each  day.  I  was  speaking  of  it  once  to  a 
friend,  as  to  how  precious  I  had  found  it,  and  she 
remarked  that  4  all  unfoldings  of  the  "  Word  "  are 
precious ;  that  if  I  noticed,  it  was  the  verse  for 
each  day  which  lingered  in  my  mind  ;  t.:at  Mac- 
duff cracks  the  nut  of  divine  truth,  and  gives  us 
the  kernel.'  Let  me  see,  what  day  of  the  month  is 
it  to-day  ?  " 

"  The  22d,"  replied  Margaret,  evidently  a  little 
annoyed  at  Mrs.  L.'s  presence.  But  though  she 
noticed  it,  she  paid  no  attention  to  it ;  but  turning 
to  the  day,  said, 

"  '  Your  sorrow  shall  be  turned  into  joy,'  "  John 
xvi.  20.  "  O,  this  is  beautiful !  and  so  appropri- 
ate, let  me  read  it  for  you  :  '  Christ's  people  are  a 
sorrowing  people  !  Chastisement  is  their  badge, 
1  great  tribulation  '  is  their  appointed  discipline. 
When  they  enter  the  gates  of  glory,  He  is  repre- 
sented as  wiping  away  tears  from  their  eyes,'  ': 
and  so  she  continued  through  the  healing  leaves 


GLIMPSES  OF   INKER  LIFE.  bo 

for  the  day.  Her  voice  died  softly  away  on  the 
last  words,  and  as  she  looked  up  to  Margaret,  for 
an  expression  of  her  opinion,  she  saw  her  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears. 

"  It  is  very  beautiful!"  said  Margaret.  "Let 
me  see  it  ?  " 

She  passed  her  the  book,  then  laying  her  hand 
gently  on  Margaret's  shoulder,  said,  "  I, must  go 
now.  God  bless  you  and  comfort  you ;  good 
night !  " 

"  Good  night,"  softly  returned  Margaret.  "  I 
think  you  have  opened  a  mine  for  me  here." 
glancino;  at  the  book. 

"  A  few  precious  gems  you  mean,"  smilingly 
rejoined  Mrs.  L.,  "  gathered  from  the  great  mine 
of  eternal  truth  ;  "  and,  with  another  smile  and 
bow,  she  passed  on  to  the  room  of  Bessie. 

She  found  her  door  ajar  ;  but  seeing  no  light, 
was  about  to  retreat,  when  Bessie's  low  voice  just 
reached  her,  saying,  "  Aunty  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  entering  her 
room,  "  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here,"  responded  she  from  the  window.  Mrs. 
L.  passed  over  to  her,  and  said,  "  What  are  you 
doing  here,  Bessie,  without  a  light  ?  " 

"  Without  a  light  !  "  replied  Bessie,  "  surely 
vou  do  not  call  this  beautiful  moonlight  dark- 
ness  ?  " 


54  THE   HUXTIXGDONS  :    OR, 

"  No,  Bessie  ;  it  is  beautiful,  more  purely  beau- 
tiful than  any  other  light.  But  what  are  you 
thinking  about,  pet  ? "  and  Mrs.  L.  twined  her 
arm  about  her. 

"Thank  you,  for  calling  me  pet,"  returned  Bes- 
sie, leaning  her  head  against  Mrs.  L.'s  shoulder. 
"  It  seems  so  natural  and  protecting.  Do  you 
know,  I  feel  so  sad  to  be  growing  old  !  I  have 
been  petted  so  long,  that  I  yearn  for  these  atten 
tions  at  times,  spite  of  all  my  fast  growing  convic- 
tions, that  it  is  time  for  me  to  overcome  them." 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,"  said  Mrs.  L.,  drawing  her 
closer;  "  bu':  you  are  evasive  ;  you  have  not  an- 
swered my  question." 

"  Thinking  of  mamma  and  father  ;  wondering 
whether  they  were  gazing  at  the  same  moon  and 
stars.  Is'nt  it  comforting  that  no  matter  how  far 
we  are  separated  fro  n  friends,  we  can  constantly 
have  the  same  objects  to  gaze  at  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  "  but,  Bessie,  I  know 
a  more  comforting  thought  still." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  returned  Bessie,  quickly. 

"  That  no  matter  how  far  we  may  be  separated 
from  friends,  even  if  divided  by  the  broad  river  of 
death,  we  have  the  same  God  to  watch  over  us, 
the  same  Jesus  to  adore,  and  the  same  Comforter 
Divine,  to  speak  peace  to  our  souls.  Is  this  not 
precious  ?  exceedingly  precious  !  " 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  55 

"  To  Christians  it  must  be,"  replied  Bessie,  very 
sadly  ;  "  but  I,  poor  faithless  souL  know  nothing 
of  this  preciousness." 

"  He  is  waiting  to  give  it  to  you,  Bessie.  Do 
you  not  Remember  He  says,  '  Behold  I  stand  at 
the  door,  and  knock ;  if  any  man  hear  my  voice, 
and  open  the  door,  I  will  come  in  to  him,  and  will 
sup  with  him,  and  he  with  me.' ' 

"  Oh  !  aunty,  the  way  is  dark ;  I  do  not  see 
Jesus." 

"  No  matter  how  dark,  lean  upon  Him  and 
trust,  sweetly  trust  Him,  and  all  will  be  light." 

"  But  I  am  so  sinful." 

"  His  blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin." 

"  O  !  that  I  could  feel  all  this  you  tell  me.  I 
know  it,  but  do  not  feel  it." 

"  Pray,  dear  one,  pray,  and  cast  even  this  bur- 
den on  the  Lord,  and  simply  trust  Him,  and  the 
feeling  will  come." 

"  And  have  I  nothing  to  do  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing,  but  trust.  Do  you  not  remember 
those  sweet  words  : 

'  Other  merit  have  I,  none, 
,  Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee 

Leave,  ah!  leave  me  not  alone, 
Still  support  and  comfort  me.'  ' 

"  No,  I  never  heard  them  ;  O,  they  are  sweet, 
teach  them   to  me."  and  there,  in  the  soft  moon- 


56  THE     HUNTINGDON  ;     OR, 

light,  the  mother  in  Christ  taught  the  babe  these 
fervent  utterings  for  divine  help,  ending  with 

Plenteous  grace  with  Thee  is  found, — 

Grace  to  pardon  all  my  sins ; 
Let  the  healing  streams  abound,  «. 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  within; 
Thou  of  life  the  Fouctain  art, 

Freely  let  me  take  of  Thee, 
Spring  Thou  up  within  my  heart, 

Rise  to  all  eternity. 

A  trusting,  heavenly  smile,  played  over  Bessie's 
face,  as  she  sank  sweetly  to  sleep  that  night. 


Ten  o'clock  found  Louise  Huntingdon  seated 
in  her  room,  intently  perusing  a  late  novel,  while 
Miss  Noble  was  eno-ao-ed  in  writing.  An  half 
hour  passed  thus,  then  Louise,  dropping  her  book, 
leaned  her  head  back  against  her  chair  and  seem- 
ed busily  thinking.  While  thus  engaged,  Miss 
Noble  startled  her  by  saying, 

"  Lulu,  are  you  asleep  ?  " 

"  Asleep  !  no  indeed  replied  Louise,  "far  from 
that.  I've  been  thinking  of  that  song,  "  Over  the 
river,"  Bessie  sang  this  evening.     The  lines 

"  Over  the  river  the  boatman  pale 

Carried  another,  the  household  pet; 
Her  brown  curls  waved  in  the  gentle  gale, 

Darling  Minnie,  I  see  her  yet," 


GLIMPSES    OF    INNER   LIFE.  57 

ring  in  my  ears  constantly,  and  I've  been 
thinking  supposing  Bessie,  our  pet,  should  die.  I 
wish  I  hadn't  spoken  so  to  her  this  evening." 

"  Why,  what  did  you  say  ? "  inquired  Miss 
Noble. 

Louise  repeated  the  occurrence  of  the  evening 
and  then  added,  "  I  don't  know  what  made  me 
say  it  to  her,  for  she  is  too  good  to  be  spoken  to 
in  such  a  manner.  I  did  not  mean  it  for  her 
after  all,  I  said  it  to  spite  Mr.  Belmont,  for  he 
scarcely  spoke  to  me   all  the  evening." 

"  Lo.uise  "  replied  Georgie,  "  I  wish  you  would 
not  make  such  remarks,  for  they  cause  a  great 
deal  of  unhappiness  both  to  yourself  and  others, 
without  affording  any  benefit.  And  now,  that  we 
are  speaking  of  this  evening,  let  me  mention 
another  matter  to  you.  I  noticed  your  aunt  Liv- 
ingston watched  you  and  Mr.  Baker  very  closely, 
and  I  do  not  think  she  was  pleased  with  your  man- 
ners. If  I  were  you,  I  would  be  a  little  more 
careful  in  future. 

"  Georgie,"  replied  Louise,  quite  pettishly,  "  I 
wish  you  would  cease  to  find  fault  with  my  man- 
ners. I  cannot  help  them  ;  and  as  for  aunt  Living- 
ston, she  is  such  a  stiff,  particular  body,  she  would 
see  faults  in  Bessie,  even.  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  have  as   little   to  do  with  her  as  possible, 


58  THE   HUNTINGDONS  ;    OR, 

while  she  is  here.  I  expecf  it  will  try  her 
very  much  to  see  us  going  to  balls  and  the 
opera,  for  she  thinks  it  a  great  sin  to  attend  such 
places." 

"  So  did  my  mother,"  responded  Georgie,  but 
I  don't  see  any  harm  in  it,  provided  one  behaves 
herself,  and  is  select  in  the  choice  of  company.  I 
think  you  are  rather  careless  in  this  respect." 

"  There  it  is  again,"  quickly  replied  Louise^ 
"  can't  you  let  my  poor  faults  alone  ?  " 

Louise  was  now  evidently  quite  vexed  at  Georgie, 
and  though  Georgie  modified  her  remark  and 
endeavored  to  resume  conversation,  Louise  would 
reply  only  in  monosyllables.  Feeling  thus  she  re- 
tired for  the  night,  prayerless  and  comfortless. 

Georgie  resumed  her  writing;,  and  it  was  Ion  or 
past  midnight  ere  she  ceased.  Then  taking 
up  a  little  Bible,  a  mother's  dying  gift,  she  hur- 
riedly read  a  few  verses,  and  in  the  same  manner 
knelt  and  repeated  the  short  prayers  her  mother 
had  taught  her  in  childhood.  As  she  rose,  her 
attention  was  directed  to  Louise,  who  was  sleep- 
ing, but  who  had  evidently  been  weeping.  Stoop- 
ing down  she  softly  kissed  her,  then  turning  aside, 
said,  half  for  Louise,  half  for  herself,  "  Ah,  me  ! 
this  is  a  weary  world." 


GLIMPSES    OF    INNER    LIFE.  59 

Ten  o'clock  on  the  broad  Atlantic  ocean,  found 
the  staunch  steamer  Alabama  swiftly  moving  o'er 
the  waves.  The  moonlight  leaped  and  danced 
over  the  shining  surface  of  the'  ocean,  and  rested 
on  the  saddened  face  of  Mr.  Huntingdon,  who 
paced  leisurely  up  and  down  the  promenade  deck. 
Sometimes  he  stopped,  and  gazed  at  the  clear, 
glossy  surface  before  him,  or  above  into  the  blue 
ether,  where  moved  on,  serenely  calm,  the  cold 
pale  moon.  The  soothing  quietness  oppressed 
him,  for  a  still,  small  voice,  whispered,  "God! 
God  above,  God  below,  God  in  space,  in  beauty, 
in  sublimity."  The  feeling  gained  upon  him,  and 
finally,  unable  to  crush  or  dispel  it,  he  turned  from 
nature's  most  holy  calm,  and  quickly  entered  the 
saloon  below  ;  but  the  bright  lights  and  gilded 
panels,  glared  painfull)  ot\  his  heaven-pictured 
vision,  and  loud  tones  and  boisterous  laughter, 
were  harsh  discord  to  his  ear. 

Passing  quickly  on,  he  joined  Mrs.  H.  in  her 
state-room.  As  he  entered,  he  saw  she  was  en- 
gaged in  prayer,  and  impelled  by  an  influence  he 
could  not  resist,  he  knelt  quietly  by  her,  and  soft- 
ly whispered,  "  Maggie,  pray  for  me  !  " 

The  words  were  low,  and  softly,  sweetly  utter- 
ed; but  he  caught,  "  Jesus,  husband,  Bessie,  my 
stricken  lamb,  make  them  Thine  own." 


60  THE     HUNTINGDONS  ;    OE, 

Soon  sweetly  slept  the  mother,  slept  the  child 
watched  over  by  angel  bands,  while  the  father 
and  husband,  weary  with  thought,  and  pining  for 
rest,  sought  it,  but  found  none. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and  when  Mrs. 
Livingston  arose,  she  found  that  the  rest  of  the 
family  were  still  asleep.  Seven  o'clock  passed, 
and  eight,  and  it  was  nearly  nine,  when,  tired  of 
waiting  for  a  summons  to  breakfast,  she  descended 
to  the  breakfast  room,  and^  there  found  Bessie 
feeding  her  canary  bird. 

"  Good  morning,  aunty."  said.  Bessie,  as  she 
entered,  "  You  are  a  late  riser." 

"  No,  my  child,"  replied  she,  "  it  is  a  long  time 
since  I  rose.  It  is  you  and  your  sisters  who  are 
the  late  risers." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bessie,  "  We  never  rise  on  Sun- 
days till  half-past  eight,  and  breakfast  about 
nine.  I  wish  we  had  breakfast  earlier  though, 
because  I  have  to  hurry  so  much  to  get  ready  for 
church,  and  I  don't  like  to  go  all  in  a  flutter." 

"No,  I  should  think  not,"  returned  Mrs.  L., 
"  and  it  is  wrong  thus  to  indulge  in  unnecessary 
sleep  on  the  blessed  Lord's  Day,  when  He  rose  so 
early  from  the  tomb.  I  think  I  must  try  and  see 
if  I  cannot  have  a  change  in  this  respect." 


62  THE   HUNTIXGDONS  :     OE, 

Louise  and  Miss  Noble  now  entered.  Louise 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  vexation  of  the  pre- 
vious evening,  and  greeted  her  aunt  in  a  warmer 
manner  than  usual,  or  else  she  had  determined  to 
profit  by  her  cousin's  reproof. 

They  waited  some  time  for  Edward  and  Marga- 
ret, but  as  they  did  not  make  their  appearance, 
and  breakfast  was  in  readiness,  they  seated  them- 
selves. Mrs.  L.,  without  remark,  bowed  her 
head,  and  asked  a  blessing,  and  then  quietly  com- 
menced serving  the  table.  Edward  now  entered, 
and  inquired  immediately  for  Margaret. 

"  Better  go  up  and  see  where  she  is,"  said  he 
to  Bessie. 

Bessie  left  the  room  instantly,  but  soon  return- 
ed, saying,  as  she  entered,  "  Margaret  is  sick, 
with  one  of  her  severe  headaches." 

"  Well,  she  might  know  it  would  be  so."  re- 
plied Edward.  "  I  wish  she  had  more  common 
sense.  She  has'nt  eaten  one  mouthful  since  yes- 
terday morning ;  enough  to  give  any  one  the 
headache." 

"  She  did  eat  some  toast,  and  drank  a  little  tea 
last  evening,"  observed  Mrs.  L. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Edward,  "  Well,  then,  she  didn't 
sleep  well ;  she  is  subject  to  nervous  headaches 
when  she  overworks  herself,  or  becomes  excited, 
and  knowing  it,  I  think  she  ought  to  be  more 
careful  of  herself." 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER  LIFE.  63 

*'  "We  all  know  the  right  way,"  quietly  replied 
Mrs.  L.,  "  but  sometimes  we  find  it  hard  to  pur- 
sue it." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  returned  Edward,  taking  a 
very  long  sip  of  coffee. 

The  conversation  after  this,  was  very  slight, 
and  Mrs.  Livingston  excused  herself  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  going  to  Margaret's  room,  found  her 
suffering,  indeed,  with  a  very  painful  headache. 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  use  to  you,"  said  she  to 
Margaret,  while  resting;  her  hand  on  Margaret's 
head,  which  she  had  tightly  bound  with  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Margaret,  *  It  will 
soon  get  better  if  I  can  sleep." 

Just  then  Edward  entered,  and  a  sudden  change 
seemed  to  pass  over  him,  for,  stooping  down,  he 
kissed  Margaret,  and  said,  in  an  affectionate  tone, 
"  Margaret,  drive  this  headache  away  as  quick  as 
you  can ;  1  miss  you  down  stairs.  Would  you  like 
to  have  me  smooth  your  hair  for  you  ?  " 

A  tear  trickled  down  Margaret's  cheek,  for  her 
nerves  were  very  excitable,  and  he  had  touched  a 
tender  chord.  Sighing,  she  replied,  "Perhaps,  if 
I  don't  feel  better,  you  may  after  church  ;  I  think 
I  can  sleep  now." 

"Well,  then,  to  sleep,"  and  he  pressed  her  eye 
lids  softly  down ;  then  turning  to  Mrs.  Livingston, 


64  THE   HUNTINGDON 8  :    OR, 

he  said,  "  I'll  accompany  you  to  church  this  morn. 
We  can't  do  anything  for  Margaret,  and  Miss 
Noble  will  be  at  home." 

When  Edward  returned  from  church,  he  found 
Margaret  lying  upon  the  lounge  in  the  library. 
She  looked  pale  and  languid  ;  but  a  faint  effort  at 
a  smile  was  visible  upon  her  face,  as  he  came  for- 
ward and  said,  "  Well  done,  Margaret,  I'm  glad 
to  see  you  down  stairs,  and  how's  your  head  ?  " 
and  he  sat  down  beside  her,'  and  commenced 
smoothing  her  hair. 

"Much  better,'' replied  she,  "  I  believe  I  can 
go  to  church  this  afternoon." 

"  Go  .to  church !  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Livingston,  who  was  looking  at  some  books 
in  the  library. 

"  Yes,  that  is  just  like  her,"  said  Edward,  in 
the  old  bitter  tone. 

"  Why  not,"  replied  Margaret,  now  rather 
shrinking  from  the  touch  of  Edward's  hand  ;  "  I 
am  entirely  free  from  pain." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  free  from  pain,  you  are  weak, 
and  need  rest,"  observed  Mrs.  L. 

"  1  don't  see  how  it  can  be  much  worse  for  me 
to  go  to  church,  than  to  lie  here,  and: — and  — 
worry  all  the  time,  and  be  so  lonely  ;  and  gasping, 
Oh  !  mother,"  she  burst  into  tears,  a  very  un- 
usaal  thing  for  her. 


GLIMPSES  OF   IXNER  LIFE.  65 

Edward's  heart  was  touched.  He  found  that 
Margaret,  his  "  iceberg  sister  "  as  he  called  her, 
had  strong,  deep  feelings.  He  had  heard  her  the 
night  before,  pacing  her  room,  but  he  thought  it 
was  for  a  religious  purpose  she  did  it,  and  though 
he  was  tender  to  her  before,  it  was  a  tenderness 
he  felt  it  his  duty  to  evince,  now  that  his  parents 
were  away.  But  these  words  of  Margaret  were 
a  new  revelation  of  her  heart  to  him,  and  he  saw 
that  her  grief  for  the  departure  of  her  parents, 
was  more  deep  than  Bessie's  or  his  own. 

Mrs.  Livingston  was  also  touched,  and  together 
they  comforted  her.  In  a  few  moments  she  con- 
trolled herself,  and  said,  "I  think  I  had  better  go 
to  my  room  ;  I  shall  be  more  quiet  there." 

"  No,  you  will  not,"  replied  Edward,  affection- 
ately. "  You  must  come  out,  and  fill  your  place 
at  dinner." 

"  I  can't  eat,"  said  she,  despairingly. 

"  "Well,  then,  you  can  see  us,"  returned  he. 

She  demurred  no  longer,  and  silently  acquiesced 
in  Edward's  arrangements.  After  they  were 
seated,  Edward  was  commencing,  as  usual,  to 
serve  without  a  blessing,  when  Miss  Noble  mo- 
tioned to  him  about  it  in  such  a  manner  that  he 
saw  no  way  of  escape,  so  crimsoning  a  little,  he 
bowed  to  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  just  murmured, 
"  "Will  you  ask  a  blessing."  Thus  did  she  gain 
the  victory  ! 


66  THE    EUXTINGDOXS  :    OK, 

After  dinner,  Edward  returned  with  Margaret 
to  the  library,  and  declared  his  intention  of  re- 
maining home  to  keep  her  company. 

!  I  had  rather  you  wouldn't,"  said  she. 

"But  I  shall,"  said  he,  "  and  moreover,  I  am 
going  to  read  to  you.  I  have  a  very  interesting 
book  in  my  room,  I  think  you'll  like  ;  "  and  he 
started  away  for  it,  but  he  hesitated  ere  he  reach- 
ed the  stairs,  and  decided,  upon  farther  thought, 
that  she  would  not  like  it  ;.  then  thought  again, 
"  "Well,  I'll  try  it  anyway  ;  perhaps  she  will  hear 
it,  and  it  may  drive  away  some  of  her  foolish  no- 
tions." He  procured  the  book  he  was  reading 
the  evening  before,  and  returned  to  the  library. 

"Let  me  see  it,"  said  she,  as  he  entered. 

"0,  no  matter,"  replied  he,  "  It  isn't  to  see  ;  you 
hear  me  read." 

But  his  evading  her  in  this  manner  only  made 
her  the  more  anxious  to  see  it,  and  she  said, 
"  Edward,  I  don't  wish  to  hear  you  read  any  book 
that  you  are  not  willing  I  should  see." 

"  WeH,  see  it,  then,"  replied  he,  good  humored- 
ly.  "  And  I  wish  you  could  only  see  the  truth  of 
it  as  easily  as  you  can  see  its  pages." 

She  dropped  it  quickly,  and  with  a  shudder, 
said,  "  Take  it  away,  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  his 
writings." 

"  How   narrow-minded  and  set  you  are,"  re- 


GLIMPSES  OF  IXNEE  LIFE.  67 

turned  he,  picking  it  up.     "  I  should  think-  you 
would  wish  to  hear  it,  so  as  to  know  both  sides." 

"  Satan  has  already  taught  me  enough  of  the 
wrong  side,"  responded  Margaret,  "  and  I  do  not 
wish  to  hear  what  he  has  taught  other  people." 

"  Do  you  call  these  Satanic  teachings  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  though  the  evil  is  probably  hidden 
in  a  char minsj  g-arb." 

"  However,  I  should  think  you,  with  your  pre- 
tensions, might  read  and  get  no  harm,"  returned 
Edward. 

"  Enter  not  into  temptation,"  responded  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Well,  what  shall  I  read  to  you,  then,  for  I  am 
determined  to  please  you." 

"  There  is  a  book  in  my  room,  on  my  little  ta- 
ble, called ''Self-Examination."  You  may  get  it,  if 
you  will."  Margaret  asked  him  to  read  this,  not 
only  to  please  herself,  but  in  hopes  that  it  might 
lead  him  to  see  his  errors.  While  Edward  was 
passing  up  stairs,  he  met  Mrs.  L.  and  told  her  he 
was  going  to  read  to  Margaret.  He  also  men- 
tioned the  book  she  wished  to  hear,  but  Mrs.  L. 
shook  her  head,  and  said, 

"  I  will  get  you  one  of  my  books,  and  you  tell 
her  I  sent  it  to  her,"  and  she  handed  to  him  a 
memoir  of  a  young  minister,  which  she  thought 
would  give  Margaret  healthy  views  of  a  Christian 


68  THE   HUNTLNGDONS  :    OR, 

life,  as  well  as  interest,  and,  perhaps,  benefit  Ed- 
ward. 

After  Edward  went  down  stairs,  Mrs.  L.  passed 
into  Margaret's  room,  and  taking  up  the  book  on 
Self-Examination,  wrote  with  a  pencil  on  the  in- 
side cover,  "  For  one  look  at  self,  take  fifty  looks 
at  Christ"*  then  passed  downstairs  to  the  parlor. 

As  Edward  returned  into  the  Library,  he  hand- 
ed the  memoir  to  Margaret,  saying,  "  Here,  aunt 
Livingston  sent  you  that  to  read." 

Margaret  slightly  frowned  at  the  change,  and 
said,  as  she  turned  the  leaves  over,  "  I  should 
rather  read  this  on  a  week  day." 

"  Why,  what's  the  harm  to  read  it  to-day  ?  " 

"  O,  I  see  a  good  deal  about  worldly  matters," 
said  she. 

"  Then  you  think  _we  ought  not  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  world  Sundays.  I  should 
like  to  know  how  you  think  people  are  going  to 
live,  if  they  thrust  the  world  out  every  seventh 
day.  In  fact  they  nor  you  can't  do  it ;  you  must 
eat,  drink,  and  use  the  world's  goods." 

"  We  can't  help  that,"  returned  Margaret ; 
"  But  this  book  tells  of  every  day' life,  and  I  don't 
care  to  hear  it  to-day." 

"  Every  day  life,  sanctified  by  religion,"  said 
Mrs.  L.,  who  had  entered  the  room  while  Edward 

*McCheyne. 


GLIMPS-LS  OF  IXXER  LIFE.  C9 

ivas  speaking,  fearing  that  Margaret  might  object 
to  the  change.  "  It  is  a  book  which  is  perfectly- 
proper  for  you  to  read  to-day.  Your  mind  now  is 
too  disturbed  to  hear  anything  of  an  abstruse  na- 
ture, and  the  greater  part  of  this  will  not  require 
much  thought.  You  can  but  be  benefitted  by 
the  cheerful,  living  religion,  here  presented.  Re- 
member, my  child,  '  the  Sabbath  was  made  for 
man,  not  man  for  the  Sabbath.'  " 

"That's  a  fact,"  responded  Edward,  warmly. 
"  I'm  glad  you  recognize  it,  aunt  Livingston." 

She  smiled  and  said,  "  I  presume,  if  I  should  be 
more  definite  in  my  ideas  of  the  proper  manner  of 
spending  the  Sabbath,  you  and  I  would  differ 
much  more  than  Margaret  and  I." 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  returned  Margaret. 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  Edward,  "  now  hear  me 
read." 

Mrs.  Livingston  soon  left,  and  joined  Bessie, 
who  had  decided  to  attend  church  twice  that  day. 

The  sweet  smile  of  peace  which  rested  on  Bes- 
sie's face  the  nio-ht  before,  still  lingered  there,  but 
intermingled  with  it  was  a  thoughtful,  earnest 
(sometimes  troubled)  look,  indicative  of  the  va- 
rious workings  of  her  heart.  Her  faithful  minis- 
ter noticed  her  presence  and  manner,  and  his 
heart  was  warmed,  and  faith  quickened,- as  he  saw 
the  indications  of  the  Spirit's  power.     He  felt  the 


70  THE   HUWTINGDONS  :    OE, 

silent  influence  of  the  upturned,  eager  face,  and 
his  words  took  a  more  earnest  tone,  and  touching 
pathos,  than  usual. 

That  evening  was  the  Sabbath  School  Concert, 
and  as  Bessie  passed  out  of  the  church,  she  deter- 
mined to  try  to  attend  it.  For  two  or  three  years 
she  had  remained  away  from  it ;  in  fact,  no  one  of 
the  Huntingdons  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going, 
though.  Margaret  of  late  would  have  attended, 
had  the  church  not  been  so  great  a  distance  from 
her  home,  or  her  father  been  willing  to  trust  her 
alone. 

After  tea,  Bessie  followed  Edward  to  his  room, 
and  entering,  said,  "  Ned,  I  have  a  great  favor  to 
ask  of  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?  pet,"  said  he,  encircling  her  with 
his  arm,  and  seating  her  on  his  knee. 

"  Why,  as  Bell  is  not  at  home,  and  you  have 
no  other  good  place,  I  think,  to  spend  this  even- 
ing, won't  you  go  with  me  down  to  the  church  ? 
I  wish  to  attend  the  Sabbath  School  Concert." 

"  Why,  Bessie,  three  times  to  church  on  Sun- 
day !  that  will  never  do  in  the  world ;  you'll  be 
sick,  certainly." 

"  Now,  don't  plague  me  ;  I  want  to  go  very 
much,  and  you  will  please  me,  wont  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  don't  want  to  go 
to  such  a  children's  exhibition." 


GLIMPSES     OF  INNER  LIFE.  71 

"  But  many  grown  people  attend,  and  4  they 
Eay'  these  concerts  are  very  interesting." 

"  That  may  be  to  those  parents  who  wish  to  see 
their  darling  children  exhibit,  but  I  have  no  such 
interest  to  attract  me." 

"  I'm  sure  the  children  only  sing.  I  do  not  see 
much  exhibition  in  that." 

"  Well,  perhaps  there  is  not,  but  I  can't  go,  I 
have  an  engagement  elsewhere  ;  but  see  here, 
maybe  your  aunt  Livingston  would  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  No,  she  don't  go  out  evenings  ;  you  know  her 
health  is  not  very  gooc." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  stay  at  home.  I  guess 
two  meetings  will  answer  for  one  clay." 

"  But  Edward  —  ,"  and  tears  filled  the  eyes  of 
Bessie,  and  she  said  no  more. 

Tears  —  they  softened  Edward's  heart,  and  he 
said,  "Come  now  !  stop  that;  "  and  he  tenderly 
kissed  them  away,  and  continued :  "It  seems  to 
me  you  and  Margaret  are  becoming  great  babies 
now-a-days.  Why,  I  think  I  have  seen  more 
tears  from  you  the  last  two  or  three  days,  than  all 
your  life  before." 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  said  Bessie,  forcing  back  the 
coming  ones  ;  "  but  I'm  sad  and  lonely,  and —  " 
She  leaned  back  against  Edward's  shoulder,  while 
he,  enfolding  her  more  closely,  smoothed  her 
curls  away,  then  said, 


72  THE   HUNTINGDON:    OK, 

"  And  what,  pet  ?  " 

"No  matter  now,"  replied  she,  attempting  to 
rise  while  he  held  her  fast. 

"  O,  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  go  just  now," 
returned  he,  "  and  upon  further  thought,  I  think 
you  had  better  attend  that  concert  ;  it  will  keep 
you  from  thinking  so  much.  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
will  do  :  I  will  go  down  with  you,  and  will  leave 
you  at  the  door,  and  will  be  in  the  entry  waiting 
for  you  when  the  concert  is  finished." 

"  AYhy  wont  you  go  in  ?  "  said  Bessie. 

"  Because  I  can't  endure  childrens'  affairs,  I 
have  told  you.     Come,  you  must  be  satisfied." 

"  Well,"  returned  Bessie,  knowing  it  was  use- 
less to  urge  him  further. 

Bessie's  pastor  saw  her  as  she  entered,  and  he 
was  more  assured  that  she  was,  indeed,  a  seeker 
after  divine  things.  For  a  long;  while  she  had 
been  a  favorite  of  his ;  he  had  marked  her  at 
school,  saw  the  influence  she  exerted  there,  saw 
her  by  her  mother's  couch,  and  witnessed  the 
deep,  solicitous  affection,  she  possessed  for  her, 
and  he  longed  to  see  the  "merry-hearted  crea- 
ture "  saddened,  but  saddened  only  by  her  sinful- 
ness. Bessie  took  her  seat  in  the  back  part  of  the 
vestry.  She  felt  rather  out  of  place,  and  when 
she  seated  herself,  moved  along  behind  a  post  that 
her  pastor  might  not  discover  her.     She  imagined 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  73 

what  lie  would  think,  and  her  still  proud  heart, 
could  not  bear  it  just  then. 

After  some  opening  exercises,  each  scholar  re- 
peated a  verse  from  the  Bible. 

Much  to  Bessie's  dismay,  she  found  that  the 
generality  of  the  parents  and  friends  also  said  one. 
"  What  shall  I  do,"  thought  she  ;  "  the  Lees,  the 
Porters,  and  Mr.  Leslie,  will  know  I'm  here  ;  be- 
side, I  can't  think  of  one." 

Just  then,  a  very  familiar  voice  fell  upon  her 
ear,  saying,  "  Good  Master,  what  shall  I  do  to  in- 
herit eternal  life  ?  " 

She  sat  very  quietly  then,  endeavoring  to  think 
of  a  verse  ;  but  "  Good  Master,  what  shall  I  do 
to  inherit  eternal  life,"  still  rang  in  her  ears.  Just 
in  time,  however,  "  Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  thou  shalt  be  saved,"  came  to  her 
mind,  and  without  further  thought,  she  said  it,  and 
he,  Mr.  Belmont,  heard  it,  and  the  comforting 
words  spoke  volumes  to  his  soul. 

The  pastor  heard  both,  and  again  his  heart  was 
encouraged.  He  saw  a  little  cloud  in  these  pub- 
lic exponents  of  their  feelings,  and  when  he  arose 
to  address  his  congregation,  his  verse  was  "  My 
soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord." 

Tears  often  came  to  Bessie's  eyes  that  evening, 
which  distressed  and  annoyed  her.  She  had  ever 
been  one  of  those  who  scorned  such  weaknesses,  es- 


71  THE   HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

pecially  in  public,  and  now  that  she  found  herself 
a  martyr  to  it,  her  pride  rebelled  again  and  again  ; 
but  do  what  she  would,  she  could  not  hear  cf 
Christ  with  tearless  eyes.  The  "  foundation  of 
her  heart  was,  indeed,  broken  up,"  and  glad  was 
she,  when  the  exercises  concluded,  to.  drop  her 
veil,  and  pass  quickly  out,  trusting  to  soon  reach 
home,  where  she  could  give  full  vent  to  her  feel- 
ing's. 

She  looked  in  vain  for  Edward,  but  soon  heard 
the  familiar  voice  of  Mr.  Belmont,  who  said,  ad- 
vancing toward  her, 

"Miss  Bessie,  Edward  has  left  you  in  my 
charge.  I  met  him  just  as  you  parted  from  him, 
and  promised  to  see  you  safely  home.     May  I  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Bessie,  in  an  offended 
tone.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  be  obliged  to  trouble 
vou." 

Mr.  Belmont  smiled,  and  said,  "  Trouble  !  I 
am  only  too  glad  of  the  opportunity.  Don't  be 
offended." 

But  Bessie  was  offended.  She  did  not  like  Ed- 
ward's easy  manner  of  thus  disposing  of  her,  and 
with  womanly  feeling  she  resented  it. 

"  Edward  will  always  treat  me  like  a  child,  I 
believe,"  said  she,  while  turning  the  church  cor- 
ner, "  if  I  live  to  be  fifty  years  old." 

"O,  he's  just  like  all   brothers,"  replied  Bel- 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  75 

mont,  "  just  as  I  suppose  I  should  be  to  a  sister 
if  I  had  one.  Don't  think  of  it  any  more.  How 
did  you  enjoy*  the  meeting  ?  " 

Bessie's  backward  glance  at  that,  brought  up 
other  feelings,  and  she  answered,  softly  and  sadly, 
"  very  much." 

"Did  you  mean  your  verse  for  me?"  ques- 
tioned Belmont. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Bessie,  a  little  evasive- 
ly ;  and  then  the  wiser  prompting  conquered,  and 
she  said,  courageously,  "  Yes,  I  did,  and  I  believe 
it." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  sighed  Belmont,  in  reply. 

"You  can,"  returned  she,  "  if  you  only  will." 

"  Yes,  there's  the  trouble,"  replied  he. 

"  Yes,  there  is  the  trouble,"  said  she  ;  "it  is  so 
hard  to  believe." 

"  It's  a  very  simple  thing,"  returned  Belmont, 
musingly. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Bessie,  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing of  it  all  day.  By  the  way,  were  you  at 
church  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Not  at  ours,"  replied  Belmont,  "  I  went  to 
hear  D  — ,  with  a  friend." 

"  Then  you  missed  an  excellent  sermon,"  con- 
tinued Bessie,  "  from  the  text,  '  But  of  Him  are 
ye  in  Christ  Jesus,  who  of  God  is  made  Unto  us, 
wisdom  and  righteousness,  and  sanctification  and 


76  THE   HUNTI^GDONS  :  OK, 

redemption.'  Mr.  Leslie  laid  the  text  open  in  a 
manner  I  shall  never  forget.  Although  a  great 
portion  of  it  was  too  deep  for  me  to  comprehend, 
yet  still  I  saw  very  plainly,  O,  how  much  Christ 
could  become  to  us  !  " 

"  Made  unto  us,  who  believe  on  Him,"  re- 
turned Belmont;  "wisdom,  righteousness,  sanc- 
tification,  and  redemption  —  glorious,  glorious 
promises !  O,  Bessie,  it  must  be  blessed  to 
thus  find  Christ.  Do  you  know,  I  really  am  pin- 
ing, am  sick,  I  might  say,  for  something  outside  of 
this  unsatisfactory  world.  I  have  tried,  and  have 
become  thoroughly  satiated  with  the  world's  plea- 
sures ;  I  know  they  can  never  gratify  these  long- 
ings of  my  heart.  Why,  Bessie,  was  I  created 
with  such  longings,  if  there  is  nothing  to  meet 
them  ?  And  tell  me  where,  or  in  what  pursuit, 
can  I  find  this  satisfaction  ?  " 

"  In  nothing  but  religion,  it  seems  to  me,"  rev- 
erently replied  Bessie. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  returned  Belmont, 
mournfully ;  "  but,  Bessie,  how  to  get  it  perplexes 
me.  What  must  I  do  to  inherit  eternal  life  ?  and 
then  the  doctrines,  they  puzzle  me.  I  must  get 
righted  there  first." 

"The  doctrines!"  said  Bessie,  "  I  think  they 
will  be  all  plain  enough  by-and-by  ;  it  seems  to 
me  now  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  believe.     But 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER    LIFE.  77 

O-i  !  clon't  ask  poor,  ignorant  me  for  guidance,  for 
T  am  in  a  sort  of  maze  myself.  Last  night  the 
way  seemed  very  clear,  and  I  could  trust  in 
Christ,  but  now  it  is  darkened.  Perhaps  Satan  is 
hedging  it  up  before  me." 

"Then  you  believe  he  is  constantly  endeavoring 
to  divert  these  good  tendencies  in  us  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Does  it  not  speak  in  the  Bible 
of  bis  going  about  '  as  a  roaring  lion,  seeking 
whom  he  may  devour.'  Could  a  stronger  figure 
be  used,  indicative  of  his  persistent  efforts  for  our 
ruin,  than  this  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed ;  but  I  rarely  ever  think  of  him. 
I  feel  it  is  the  wickedness  of  my  own  heart  which 
leads  me  astray." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  our  hearts  do  lead  us  astray ; 
but  then  he  and  his  angels  are  ever  busy,  constant- 
ly tempting  us,  and  working  upon  the  evil  in  our 
hearts.    Do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  'are  right ;  but  Bessie, 
must  we  be  always  tempted  thus  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  must  we  not  ?  and  now  I  think  of  it, 
mother  often  repeated  to  me  some  verses  touch- 
ing that  point ;  but  they  have  escaped  me  just 
at  this  moment."  Bessie  hesitated  a  while,  and 
then  said,  "  Well,  I  can't  recall  the  words,  but  the 
ideas  were  '  that  even  Jesus,  as  free  from  sin  as  he 
was,  was   tempted  while   on   earth,'  and  we  must 


78  THE   HUNTINGDONS. 

not  expect,  to  escape  temptation  ;  but  that  if  we 
rely  on  Christ,  He  will  not  suffer  us  to  be  tempted 
any  more  than  we  can  bear,  and  will,  in  some  way, 
provide  an  escape  for  us/' 

"  Yes,  I  remember  the  verses,"  replied  Bel- 
mont ;  "  but  they  never  seemed  as  significant  be- 
fore. So,  Bessie,  it  is  your  mother  who  has 
taught  vou.  I  have  been  wondering  how  you 
gained  your  knowledge  of  divine  things.  I  was 
well  taught,  too,  in  my  youth,  but  I  have  imbib- 
ed so  much  error  and  speculation  since,  that  my 
mind  is  quite  confused  on  Bible  points." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,"  returned  Bessie  ; 
"  but  now  mother  is  gone,  her  teachings  all  come 
up  to  me,  and  I  can  see  their  meaning  and  force 
much  better  than  when  she  was  with  me." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Belmont,  "  we  often  find 
that  to  be  the  case  with  the  teachings  and  conver- 
sation of  one's  friends." 

They  had  now  nearly  reached  Bessie's  home, 
and  the  conversation  changed  to  other  subjects. 
As  Mr.  Belmont  bade  Bessie  good  night,  he  ask- 
ed, "When  shall  we  have  such  an  opportunity 
again  ?     I  wish  to  talk  more  on  this  subject  ?  " 

"  O,  some  time,"  replied  Bessie.  "  I  shall  be 
very  anxious  to  know  how  you  succeed.  Why 
don't  you  go  and  see  Mr.  Leslie  ?  " 

"  See,  Mr.  Leslie  !    I  had  not  thought  of  that ; 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  79 

but  I'd  rather  not.  He  would  'nt  understand 
me." 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  returned  Bessie. 

IN  o !  Bessie  could  not  understand  why,  nor 
could  Mr.  Belmont  either  have  given  a  satisfactory 
reason.  Like  many  others,  he  viewed  the  matter 
in  a  false  light,  and  felt  that  his  perplexities  were 
too  intricate,  of  too  lono-  standing  for  a  man  like 
himself  to  dispel.  He  did  not  consider  that  his 
pastor  was  taught  of  God,  and  that  it  was  through 
the  same  wisdom  he  himself  thought  must  be  '*■  so 
glorious,"  and  which  was  given  from  above,  that 
God's  faithful  servants  could  discern  the  sinner's 
errors,  subterfuges,  ?md  excuses,  Satan's  tempta- 
tions and  insinuations,  and  point  out  the  true  way 
to  the  cross  of  Christ.  No  !  Satan  blinded  him 
here  most  effectually,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  which 
works  by  means,  left  him  to  grope  in  the  darkness. 
alone. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  next  morning,  Bessie  Huntingdon  awoke 
from  sleep  with  the  consciousness  that  some- 
thing unusual  had  happened  to  her.  Gazing  about 
the  room  to  recall  the  event,  her  eye  fell  upon  her 
mother's  Bible,  opened  at  the  place  where  she  had 
left  it  the  evening  before.  Then  quickly  followed 
in  her  mind  all  the  events  of  the  past  few  days, 
and  as  she  re-called  them,  and  thought  also  that 
this  day  would  begin  her  school  life  again,  she 
shuddered,  and  clasping  her  hands,  gazed  implor 
ingly  upward,  and  murmured,  "  Oh  !  Father,  help 
this  little  lamb,  who  is  so  very  weak."  Thought- 
fully, she  made  her  toilet,  and  thoughtfully,  soon 
after  breakfast,  she  proceeded  to  school. 

She  met  her  schoolmates  in  the  hall,  and  was 
welcomed  warmly  by  them,  for  they  had  missed 
her  pleasant  smiles  and  winning  words,  during 
her  absence ;  besides,  she  was  the  link  which 
united  many  varying  temperaments.  Now,  timid 
Alice  Cooledge  could  venture  to  join  the  bevy  of 
young  ladies  talking  so  loudly  and  independently 
in  one  corner  of  the  room,  because  she  knew  Bes- 


GLIMPSES  OP  INNER  LIFE.  81 

sie  would  welcome  her  as  she  approached,  and  say 
something  like  "  Alice,  dear,  come  stand  beside 
me,"  and  shielded  by  her,  Alice  felt  at  ease.  Kate 
Delano,  too,  a  rude,  honest  spoken,  but  well  mean- 
ing girl,  was  another  one  that  Bessie  bound,  by 
her  natural  tact,  to  the  "  circle,"  which  is  found 
in  all  schools.  Kate  was  often  in  trouble,  from 
her  ill-timed,  honest  remarks ;  but  when  Bessie 
was  present,  she  generally  turned  them  in  such  a 
.  manner,  that  often  no  bad  effect  was  produced. 

Now  Kate  rushed  forward  to  her,  and  shaking 
her  hand,  said,  "  O,  Bessie  Huntingdon,  how  re- 
joiced I  am  to  see  you ;  the  girls  have  all  been 
abusing  me  during  your  absence." 

"  Why,  what  have  you  done,"  replied  Bessie, 
•"  to  provoke  so  much  abuse  ?  " 

"  Spoken  the  truth,  that's  all,"  said  Kate. 

u  What  she  considers  truth,"  interposed  Jennie 
Duncan.  "  If  we  all  regarded  truth  as  Kate  does, 
and  make  such  a  public  proclamation  of  it,  we 
should  soon  get  into  a  pretty  snarl." 

"  How  well  it  is,  then,"  returned  Bessie,  "  that 
we  don't  all  think  and  speak  alike.  Ah  !  i  la 
petite  Alice,'  here  you  are,"  said  she,  as  the  timid 
girl  advanced  blushingly  towards  her.  "  Have 
you  missed  me  any  ?  " 

"  Missed  you  !  "  and  Alice's  reproving  look  told 
Bessie  only  too  well  how  much  her  brief  absence 
had  been  felt  by  one,  at  least. 


82  THE   HUNTIXGDONS  :    OR, 

Bessie  wound  her  arm  about  her  as  usual,  and 
Alice  softly  whispered,  "  Bessie,  I  have  thought 
of  you  a  great  deal  while  you  have  been  away, 
and  have  pitied  you  so  much.  I  saw  you  last 
night  at  the  concert.     Are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  do  I  not  look  so  ?  "  replied  Bessie, 
gazing  at  her  with  a  beaming  smile. 

"  Oh  !  do  stop  your  everlasting  cooing,"  said 
Kate  Delano.  "  Eeally  it's  been  quite  refreshing — " 
but  here  the  sound  of  the  school  bell  interrupted 
her,  and  with  a  slight  look  of  pretended  disgust 
to  finish  her  remarks,  Kate  turned  to  her  seat. 

As  Bessie  passed  to  hers,  she  greeted  her  teach- 
er, who  did  not  fail  to  notice  how  peculiarly  tran- 
quil she  appeared.  The  Bible  lesson,  which  im- 
mediately followed,  was  very  interesting,  and 
Madame  Clark  made  a  personal  application  of  it 
with  regard  to  carrying  religion  into  the  little  acts 
of  life.  Bessie  gave  strict  attention  to  all  that 
she  said,  and  it  was  with  deep  earnestness  that 
she  silently  joined  in  a  portion  of  the  prayer  which 
followed  the  lesson,  that  "  all  might  carry  the 
Spirit  of  Christ  into  their  daily  acts,  their  lessons, 
their  conversations,  recitations,  deportment,  and 
whatever  they  might  think  or  do,"  so  that,  con- 
cluded the  teacher,  "  Whether,  therefore,  we  eat 
or  drink,  or  whatsoever  we  do,  we  may  do  it  all  to 
the  glory  of  God." 


GLIMPSES  OF    INXER  LIFE.  83 

As  Bessie  passed  to  a  recitation  soon  after,  Jen- 
nie Duncan  made  signs  to  her  for  a  pencil,  but  in- 
stead of  handing  her  one  as  she  usually  would, 
she  passed  on  without  saying  a  word,  or  making  a 
sign,  but  when  she  reached  the  class  she  gave  her 
a  smile,  while  Jennie  in  return,  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  gave  her  a  very  significant  look. 
As  Bessie  expected,  at  recess  Jennie  assailed  her 
with, 

"  Well  done,  Bessie  Huntingdon  !  who  would 
have  believed  you  could  have  been  so  selfish  as  to 
deny  me  a  bit  of  pencil.  I  did  not  think  it  of 
you." 

"  Jennie,"  said  Bessie,  quietly,  "  You  know 
better  than  that." 

"  Don't  I  say  the  truth,"  returned  Jennie. 

"  The  truth  in  one  respect,  that  I  did  not  give 
you  my  pencil ;  but  untruth  in  another,  that  I  was 
actuated  by  selfishness." 

»  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  continued  Jen- 
nie, "  that  you  were  actuated  by  benevolence,  by 
your  refusal  of  it  when  you  knew  I  needed  it  so 
much.  I  call  it  selfishness.  Now,  if  you  had 
just  dropped  it  on  my  desk,  or  left  it  on  your  own, 
where  I  could  have  reached  it,  you  would  not 
have  communicated,  and  I  should  have  been  per- 
fect in  my  French  lesson.  As  it  was,  I  received 
four  errors  for  failing  to  have  it  ready,  and  I  charge 
them  all  to  you." 


84  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  Jennie,"  replied  Bessie,  in  a  trembling  tone, 
for  she  felt  the  time  of  confession  had  come,  and 
she  must  now  take  a  new  stand,  "  You  know  one 
of  the  rules  of  school  is,  that,  'no  young  lady 
shall  borrow  pencils,  of  her  neighbor,'  and  if 
you  had  no  right  to  borrow,  I  certainly  had  no 
right  to  lend  ;  and  besides  I  should  have  communi- 
cated, and  I  do  not  wish  to  violate  now  the  least 
rule.  The  time  past,  I  wish  you  to  forget.  I 
hope  in  future  to  be  a  more  conscientious  pupil. 
You  understand  me,  do  you  not,  Jennie  ?  "  and 
Bessie  glanced  lovingly  towards  her,  her  eyes  fill- 
ed with  tears. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Jennie,  turning  round,  and 
gazing  out  of  the  hall  window,  "  But  really  it 
seems  to  me  '  straining  at  a  gnat.' " 

"  Perhaps  it  willmot  always  seem  so,"  returned 
Bessie.  "  Don't  you  know  Madame  said  this 
morning  we  should  remember  how  great  a  power 
there  is  in  what  we  call  little  acts,  for  in  them  lies 
the  principle  of  right  and  wrong?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  remember  it,"  replied  Jennie,  in  a 
pettish  tone  ;  "I  scarcely  ever  hear  any  of  her 
long  lectures,  besides  I  don't  wish  to  be  so  con- 
scientious ;  I  should  be  unhappy  all  the  time.  I 
don't  believe  in  tormenting  one's  self  so  much." 

"  There  is  no  torment  to  me,"  responded  Bes- 
sie, "  in  doing  right ;  it  is  doing  wrong  that  gives 
me  torment." 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  85 

"  "Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Jennie, 
in  return  ;  "  it's  troublesome,  and  I  don't  care  for 
such  trouble  ;  time  enough  by-and-by." 

Bessie  was  just  about  to  reply,  when  they  were 
interrupted  by  some  of  the  school  girls,  to  her  re- 
gret, but  to  Jennie  Duncan's  satisfaction,  for  the 
conversation  had  become  altogether  too  personal  to 
please  her. 

During  the  morning.  Bessie  had  many  occasions 
to  evince  her  desires  to  do  right,  and  she  was  pain- 
fully surprise  1  to  find  k°w  far  from  conscientious 
she  had  been  heretofore,  in  little  things.  It  was 
quite  an  effort  for  her,  and  she  returned  home  in  a 
discouraged  frame  of  mind,  feeling  that  it  would 
be  a  very  hard  task  to  ever  keep  such  a  watch 
over  herself.  As  she  entered  the  house,  she  met 
Mrs.  Livingston,  who  obse  wed  her  dejection,  and 
said,  "  Bessie,  what  is  the  trouble  ?  You  look 
sad." 

"  Do  I,"  said  Bessie,  "  Well,  I  feel  so.  I  have 
discovered  this  morning,  more  than  ever,  how  wick- 
I  am,  and  how  prone  to  do  wrong ;  and  it  looks 
very  discouraging  to  me,  conquering  all  these  sin- 
ful habits  of  mine." 

"  Do  you  expect  you  can  do  it  ?  " 

"No,  aunty,  I  fear  not,  I  am  so  weak.  One 
that  had  more  strength  of  character  than  I  might; 
but  I  cannot.  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do,  for  I  cannot 
bear  to  do  wron  *-  ?  "' 


86  THE   HUNTINGDOXS  :     OR, 

Mrs.  Livingston  now  sat  down  beside  her,  on 
the  sofa,  upon  which  Bessie  had  seated  herself 
when  she  entered,  and  taking  Bessie's  hand  in 
hers,  she  said, 

"  No,  Bessie,  you  nor  I,  nor  any  one  else,  can 
do  this  great  work  of  conquering  sin  in  the  heart. 
The  strongest  of  us  are  very,  very  weak,  and  ut- 
terly unable  to  make  ourselves  what  we  see  we 
ought  to  be  ;  but  He,  the  Holy  Spirit,  will  '  work 
in  you  both  to  will  and  to  do.'  You  must  trust  in 
Christ  to  overcome  sin  in  your  heart,  just  as  you 
have  trusted  Him  to  save  you  from  sin,  and  ycu 
do  trust  your  sins  are  forgiven  for  Christ's  sake, 
do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aunty,  though  occasionally  doubting 
thoughts  arise  ;  but  I  do  not  like  them,  and  check 
them  instantly.  Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  as 
though  it  was  Satan  tempting  me." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Livingston ; 
"  and  now  let  me  tell  you  of  some  good  rules 
which  I  have  read  concerning  temptation  : 

'  1.  A  sinful  impression,  or  suggestion,  resist- 
ed till  it  disappears,  is  temptation,  and  only  temp- 
tation —  not  sin. 

1  2.  A  sinful  suggestion,  courted  or  tolerated, 
or  at  length  complied  with,  is  sin.' 

"  But  do  not  be  discouraged,  my  child  ;  all  you 
have  to  do,  is  to  simply  trust  Jesus  and  His  pow- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  87 

er,  and  that  alone  will  overcome  sin  in  your  heart. 
He  will  give  you  of  His  pure  and  truthful  nature, 
and  take  away  this  proneness  to  sin,  if  you  earn- 
estly desire  and  seek  for  it.  '  Blessed  are  they 
which  do  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness, 
for  they  shall  be  filled.'  Do  not  you  see  it  is  the 
reigning  power  in  the  heart  which  influences  you, 
and  the  more  you  have  of  Christ  in  your  heart, 
the  more  you  will  exhibit  of  him  in  your  life. 
'  Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  temple  of  God,  and 
that  the  Spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you.'  " 

"  Oh !  aunty,"  returned  Bessie,  "  what  light 
you  have  given  me  ;  that  I  am  to  let  Christ  con- 
quer all  this  bent  to  wrong,  which  I  find  in  myself.  I 
thought  I  had  to  do  it,  and  I  felt  it  was  impossi- 
ble ;  but  now  I  am  all  hope,  for  He  who  is  all- 
powerful  can  clo  it,  and  He  will  do  it  I  know,  for 
He  has  promised  to.  But,  Oh !  I  tremble  to 
think  that  He,  the  Holy  One,  has  come  and  taken 
up  His  abode  in  such  a  poor,  sinful  worm.  Pre- 
cious, precious  Saviour !  I  never  can  praise  Him 
enough." 

Mrs.  Livingston  now  arose,  and  kissing  Bessie's 
forehead,  said,  "  Even  so,  Bessie,  '  Unto  you, 
therefore,  which  believe,  He  is  precious,'  "  and 
passed  out  of  the  room. 

They  did  not  meet  again  until  dinner,  and  then 
Mrs.  Livingston  saw  how  discordant  was  the  con- 


88  THE   HUNTINGDONS. 

versation  to  Bessie.  It  was  on  the  fashions  and 
frivolities  of  the  day,  and  was  carried  on  princi- 
pally by  Louise,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  hers, 
Bell  Rivers,  the  affianced  of  Edward.  Bessie 
glanced  once  at  Mrs.  Livingston  to  see  how  she 
was  pleased,  and  how  she  could  endure  it.  Mrs. 
Livingston  caught  her  look,  and  answered  it  by 
an  upward  glance,  and  Bessie  knew  what  she 
would  have  said  could  she  have  spoken.  "  Trust, 
trust,  He  can  give  you  grace  to  endure  all  things,' f 
and  she  trusted,  and  found  it  was  not  in  vain. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

THE  afternoon  of  this  same  day,  Louise  Hunt- 
ingdon and  Bell  Eivers,  were  interrupted 
in  the  midst  of  a  private  conversation  upon  some 
of  Louise's  flirtations,  by  a  servant  who  brought  a 
note  of  invitation  for  the  Huntingdons  to  a  private 
ball,  at  the  house  of  a  friend  of  theirs,  for  the  next 
week. 

"  O  dear  !  "  said  Louise,  ."  how  unfortunate  ! 
I  have  not  a  single  presentable  dress,  and  this  will 
be  a  grand  affair,  I  know,  for  it  is  probably  com- 
plimentary to  Miss  Reynolds,  the  young  lady  vis- 
iting at  the  S argents.     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Buy  a  new  one,"  said  Bell. 

"  But  I  can't,"  replied  Louise  ;  "  My  next  al- 
lowance is  not  due  until  the  last  of  next  month, 
and  I  have  spent  all  of  this  quarter's,  but  seven 
dollars,  and  I  don't  believe  '  the  girls  '  have  any  to 
lend  me." 

"Charge  it,"  returned  Bell;  " 'Davenport', 
'Wayne  Brothers,'  or*any  of  those  firms  would  be 
glad  to  do  it." 

"  O,  no,"  replied  Louise,  "  I  could  n't  do  that ; 
Pa  would  never  forgive  mo." 


90  THE    HUNTINGDONS  ;    OR, 

"  Eie !  how  silly  you  are  ;  he  would  never  know 
it,  and  you  could  pay  it  up  just  as  soon  as  you 
get  your  allowance  ;  beside,  if  he  should  happen 
to  find  it  out,  he  wouldn't  mind  it  just  for  once." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Louise  ;  "  but 
I  must  go,  I  must  have  a  dress  ;  I  wouldn't  miss 
this  ball  for  anything.  I  know  all  of  '  our  set ' 
will  be  there,  and  it  will  be  a  brilliant  affair.  Yes, 
I  must  go,  somehow." 

"  I  suppose  its  no  use  to  ask  Ned,  for  he  is  just 
as  fussy  as  your  father  on  some  points,"  continued 
Bell ;  "  sometimes  I  get  all  out  of  patience  with 
him." 

"  No,  it's  no  use  to  ask  him,"  replied  Louise  ; 
'■  he  would  think  the  dresses  I  have  good  enough, 
and  1  don't  wish  to  borrow  it  of  any  of  them, 
anyhow ;  I  don't  like  to  be  under  obligations. 
Perhaps  I  will  charge  it ;  but  dear  me  !  how  shall 
I  manage  it  ?  They  will  wonder  how  I  have  got 
the  dress,  for  Margaret  and  Bessie  know  how 
much  money  I  have." 

They  both  remained  silent  a  while,  then  Bell 
said,  quickly,  "  I  have  it,  I  have  it ;  trust  this 
child  for  planning.  I  will  lend  you  two  or  three 
dollars,  which  is  all  I  can  spare,  and  then  when 
they  ask  you  where  you  got  the  money  for  your 
dress,  you  can  say,  '  Bell  lent  me  some,  and  1  had 
some  of  my  own,'  and  both  together  will  pay  for 


GLIMPSES  OF  INKER  LIFE.  91 

trimmings,  making,  &c,  and  you  can  charge  the 
material." 

"  Yes,  that  will  do,"  returned  Louise,  in  a  hesi- 
tating manner,  showing  that  her  conscience  was 
not  quite  at  ease  ;  but  crushing  back  its  monitions, 
she  said  again,  more  strongly,  "  Yes,  I  will  do  it ; 
I  am  not  obliged'  to  account  for  all  my  proceed- 
ings to  them." 

"  Sure  enough,"  replied  Bell,  "  you  are  nearly 
old  enough  now  to  be  your  own  mistress,  I  should 
think.  I  would  get  one  right  off,  if  I  were  you. 
Suppose  we  go  down  town,  and  look  for  some- 
thing this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will,"  responded  Louise  ;  "  but  wait 
a  moment  till  I  give  this  invitation  to  Margaret, 
and  then  I  can  tell  her  what  I  intend  to  do." 

Passing  into  the  hall,  Louise  entered  Margaret's 
room,  and  tossing  her  the  billet,  said,  ft  An  invita- 
tion to  the  Sargents.  Am  I  not  unfortunate 
though,  I  have  nothing  suitable  to  wear,  and  have 
not  sufficient  money  of  my  own  to  purchase  a  new 
dress ;  but  Bell  has  offered  to  lend  me  some,  so 
that  I  think  I  can  get  one  by  managing  carefully. 
We  are  going  out  this  afternoon  to  look  for  one." 

"Louise,  I  think  you  are  very  extravagant," 
replied  Margaret,  "  for  either  of  your  light  silks 
would  do  to  wear.  And  I  would  n't  borrow  of 
Bell  either  ;  I  don't  believe   dither  would  like  it."- 


92  THE   HUNTINGDONS;   OR, 

"  How  foolish  you  are  !  just  as  though  I  should 
appear  out  in  those  old  dresses  again.  I  declare  ! 
you  don't  know  anything  about  propriety  ;  and  as 
to  borrowing  of  Bell,  I  don't  see  a  speck  of  harm 
in  it,  and  father  will  never  know,  unless  you  take 
pains  to  tell  him.  I  really  think,  Margaret,  I  am 
about  old  enough  to  manage  for  myself."  So  say- 
ing, Louise  walked  quickly  out  of  Margaret's 
room,  shotting  the  door  behind  her  rather  violent- 

iy- 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  inquired  Bell. 

"  The  same  old  song  she  always  sings,"  replied 
Louise,  "  that  it  is  extravagance  to  buy  a  new 
dress." 

"  She  is  terribly  particular,  is  n't  she  ?  "  return- 
ed Bell,  "  since  she  joined  the  church." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Louise  ;  "  She  makes 
herself  a  perfect  torment  to  us  ;  but  come,  put  on 
your  hat,  and  get  ready,  for  it's  late  now  ?  " 

Nearly  an  hour  afterwards,  Louise  and  Bell 
entered  the  extensive  store  of  Davenport  &  Co., 
and  soon  busied  themselves  in  selecting  just  the 
shade  of  pink  silk  which  Louise  thought  would  be 
becoming  to  her. 

As  Bell  had  said,  the  clerk  was  indeed  pleased 
to  open  an  account  with  Miss  Huntingdon  and 
"  hoped  she  would  call  whenever  she  wished  any- 
thing ;  he  should  be  exceedingly  happy  to  furnish 


GLIMPSES    OF     IXXI.Ii     LIFE.  93 

it  to  her.  Ordering  the  dress  she  had  purchased 
sent  home,  Louise  and  Bell  left  the  store,  but  had 
proceeded  but  a  few  steps  ere  they  met  Edward, 
in  company  with  a  gentleman,  a  stranger  to  them- 
selves. The  stranger  simply  bowed  to  the  ladies,- 
and  turned  immediately  into  an  adjoining  store, 
while  Edward  joined  his  sister  and  Miss  Rivers  on 
their  walk  home. 

'*  Who  was  that  distingue  gentleman  with  you, 
Edward?*'   inquired  Louise. 

"  A  Mr,  Carleton,"  replied  Edward.  "  He  was 
a  class-mate  of  mine,  but  1  have  not  seen  him  for 
three  or  four  years,  as  he  has  been  in  Europe. 
He  will  stop  in  town  this  winter,  and  will  call  at 
our  house  to-morrow  evening,  so  you  must  do 
your  best  to  entertain  him.  He  is  very  particular 
in  his  choice  of  lady  acquaintances," 

"  Well,  then  Louise  wont  suit  him,"  replied 
Bell,  "  he  will  more  likely  prefer  Bessie,  or  your 
staid  sister  Margaret." 

"  We  shall  see,"  returned  Louise,  "  I  can  be 
very  quiet  and  lady-like  some  times." 

"  An  exceedingly  rare  occurrence,"  responded 
Edward,  and  then  continued,  "  but  where  have 
you  been  girls  ?  " 

"  Oh,  only  into  —  "  here  Louise  quickly  check- 
ed Miss  Rivers  by  pulling  her  dress. 


94  THE   HUNTINGDONS  ;    OE, 

"Where, -did  you  say?"  still  questioned  Ed- 
ward. 

"  Into  Delano  &  Co.'s  to  see  Meston's  new 
picture,"  returned  Bell,  and  then  turning  her  head 
she  glanced  triumphantly  at  Louise,  but  Louise's 
face  wore  no  such  look,  but  rather  one  of  anxiety 
and  pain.  Miss  Rivers  pressed  her  hanl  to  assure 
her,  and  then  instantly  changed  the  conversation. 
Louise  was  very  silent  all  the  way  home,  and  as 
sotn  as  she  reached  the  house,  she  went  directly  to 
her  room,  and  Bell  followed  her. 

"Oh,  BelU  "  anxiously  exclaimed  Louise,  as 
soon  as' she  closed  the  door,  "  how  could  you  say 
we  had  been  into  Delano's  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  should  I  have  said  ?  "  impatiently 
returned  Bell.  "  I  am  sure  we  were  in  there  this 
morning.  I  thought  you  pulled  my  dress,  so  that 
I  should  not  tell  him  that  we  had  been  into  Daven- 
port's, aid  I  said  the  first  thing  that  came  into  my 
mind.  I  don't  know  as  we  are  under  any  obliga- 
tion to  tell  him  every  place  we  go  to.  I  am  sure 
you  may  be  thankful  it  was  no  worse  ;  it  was  only 
a  '  white  lie,'  after  all,  and  people  tell  such  every 
clay.  Besides  it  was  no  worse  than  the  one  you 
told  Margaret  to-day  about  procuring  the  money 
for  your  dress." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  it  is,"   replied  Louise, 


GLIMPSES    OF    INNER   LIFE.  95 

"  though  there  was  more  truth  in  what  I  said  to 
her.  But  clear  me  !  I  wish  I  had  never  thought 
of  having  a  dress.  I  know  I  shall  have  more 
trouble  yet  about  it.  I  have  been  thinking  com- 
ing home  what  I  shall  tell  them  if  they  ask  me 
where  I  pure"  __  .t.  You  know  we  never  trade 
into  Davenport's  ;  that  was  the  reason  why  I  did 
not  wish  you  to  tell  Edward.  But  I  won't  deceive 
again,  and  if  they  ask  me  I  shall  say  into  Daven- 
port's, and  if  they  wonder,  they  may.  Don't  you 
speak  about  it  any  way." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  responded  Bell,  "  I  am 
sure  I  only  said  what  I  did  for  your  sake." 

"  Well,  I  know  it,  replied  Louise,  and  I  am 
sure  you  are  very  kind  to  be  so  interested  in  my  af- 
fairs, but  Bell,  it's  miserable  to  manage  such  ways. 
I'll  never  do  it  again,  I  assure  you,  for  I  would  not 
suffer  for  another  half  hour  what  I  have  this  after- 
noon." 

"  Pooh  !  Louise,"  returned  Bell,  "  you  are  too 
squeamish." 

"iSlo,  I  am  not,"  replied  Louise,  quite  energeti- 
cally. "  I  cannot  regard  such  things  as  you  do. 
I  never  did  such  a  thing  before,  and  had  I  irnao;- 
ined  I  was  to  be  so  troubled  about  it,  I  would 
not  have  bought  the  dress,  I  assure  you.  No  one 
knows,  either,  how  much  unhappiness  it  will  yet 
cause  me." 


96  THE   HUNTINGDONS  ;    OR, 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now,"  responded 
Bell ;  "  and  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  for- 
get it  as  soon  as  possible,  so  let  us  go  down  to  the 
parlor." 

But  in  vain,  all  that  evening,  and  many  days  af- 
ter, was  Louise  haunted  by  the  recollection  of  her 
wrong  doing.  Fortunately  no  inquiries  were 
made  by  the  family  concerning  the  dress,  which 
she  could  not  truthfully  answer,  without  betraying 
herself.  There  came  a  day  though,  when  it  was 
all  known  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I^HE  next  few  days  found  Bessie  Hunting- 
don in  great  perplexity  of  mind.  Her  feel- 
ings did  not  exactly  incline  her  to  attend  the  ball 
at  the  Sargents,  but  her  brother  was  so  anxious 
and  imperative  in  his  request  that  she  should  go, 
that  it  made  her  very  unhappy  and  undecided. 
Finally  she  sought  Mrs.  Livingston  and  asked  for 
her  counsel. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  for  advice  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Livingston,  in  reply  to  her  question.  "  You  know 
very  well  what  I  would  say  to  you." 

"  That  I  had  better  remain  at  home,"  said 
Bessie,  while  Mrs.  Livingston  bowed  in  ac- 
quiesence.  "  Yes,  I  thought  you  would  say  so, 
but  I  wish  to  know  your  reasons  for  it !  " 

"  Do  they  not  suggest  themselves  to  you  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Livingston. 

"  Yes,  I  presume  some  of  them  do,"  returned 
Bessie,  "  but  still  I  want  to  hear  you  tell  them." 

"  Well,  I  feel  that  public  gatherings  of  such  a 
nature  as  the  one  you  will  attend  at  the   Sargents 


98  THE   HUNTINGDON  ;    OR, 

are  always  objectionable,  but  especially  for  you  in 
your  present  state  of  mind/' 

"  Why,  aunty,  you  would  n't  have  me  leave 
the  world  entirely,  would  you,  because  I  am  in- 
terested in  religion." 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  "not  at  all,  but  I 
would  not  have  you  enter  into  temptation  any 
time,  and  surely  not  now  when  Satan  is  more  than 
ever  seeking  to  lead  you  astray." 

"Why  more  than  ever?"  questioned  Bessie. 
"  Because  that  you  have  now  commenced  to 
follow  Christ.  When  you  were  asleep  and  indif- 
ferent to  His  call,  Satan  was  well  pleased  to  have 
you  sleep,  but  now  he  finds  you  are  escaping  from 
the  bondage  under  which  he  has  held  you,  he 
will  not  fail  to  use  all  his  arts  to  lead  you  astray." 

"  But  why  shall  I  find  so  many  temptations 
there  ?  It  seems  to  me  I  find  more  in  thinking  of 
it,  and  what  I  shall  wear,  than  when  I  shall  be 
there." 

"Just  so,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  "he  would 
like  to  drive  all  thoughts  of  Christ  from  your 
mind  for  the  next  two  or  three  days  if  he  could, 
and  that  by  such  paltry  things   as  dress,  dancing. 

By  deciding  not  to  go,  this  temptation  would 
be  removed." 

"But,  aunty,  Edward  will  be  very  much  dis- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  9^ 

pleased  if  I  do  not  go.  He  says  I  must,  and  if  I 
go  for  his  sake  to  make  him  happ}r,  is  it  wrong  ?  " 

"  We  are  not  required  to  commit  wrong,  Bes- 
sie, in  order  to  make  others  happy." 

"  But  I  am  not  quite  sure  it  is  wrong.  You 
know  it  is  not  a  public  ball,  it  is  only  a  dancing 
party  at  a  private  house,  and  besides  many  good 
church  people  will  be  there,  I  know,  and  they 
don't  see  harm  in  if." 

"  Do  you  think  because  they  are  in  the  church, 
Bessie,  that  makes  all  they  do  right  ?  Do  you  not 
remember  the  verse  which  says,  "  Many  will  say 
to  me  in  that  day,  Lord,  Lord,  have  we  not  pro- 
phesied in  thy  name  ?  and  in  thy  name  have  cast 
out  devils  ?  and  in  thy  name  done  many  wonder- 
ful works?  And  then  will  I  profess  unto  them, 
I  never  knew  you  ;  depart  from  me,  ye  that  work 
iniquity.'  Does  not  this  show  that  there  will  be 
many  in  the  church  who  are  not  of  the  church.  Let 
me  ask  you  one  question,  Do  you  consider  it 
consistent  for  a  Christian  who  has  renounced  the 
pomps  and  vanities  of  this  world,  to  spend  some 
three  or  four  days  preparing  for  a  festive  occasion  ; 
her  heart  so  entirely  engrossed  by  thoughts  of  it, 
as  almost  to  exclude  everything  sacred,  and  then 
to  pass  nearly  a  whole  night  in  frivolity  and  vanity, 
seeking  no  good  but  the  gratification  of  selfish 
desires,  returning  home  at  last  to  waste  nearly  all 


100  THE   HUNTINGDONS;    OR, 

of  the  precious  hours  of  the  next  morning  in 
sleep,  and  when  awake  to  commence  languidly 
the  same  feelings  of  the  preceding  days  in  re- 
trospection ?  Now  tell  me,  Bessie,  is  such  a 
course  consistent  for  a  meek  and  lowly  follower  of 
the  Lamb,  and  what  good  is  there  gained  by 
it  all." 

"  None  at  all,"  returned  Bessie  sighing,  "  but 
surely  it  is  not  wrong  for  friends  to  meet  together 
to  enjoy  each  others  society." 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  ~YVre  all  need 
recreation,  and  I  approve  of  these  gatherings 
when  they  are  conducted  properly,  and  the  time 
is  passed  in  an  innocent  and  sensible  manner." 

"  Well,  aunty,"  said  Bessie,  "  I  suppose  you 
must  be  right,  I  wish  I  could  feel  so,  and  be  at 
rest.  I  am  so  unhappy  about  it.  Then,  if  I  do 
decide  not  to  go,  how  can  I  tell  Edward  ?  " 

"  Go  to  your  heavenly  Father,"  tenderly  re- 
sponded Mrs.  L.,  l  and  He  will  direct  you 
and  give  you  strength  for  it  all,  'As  thy  days  so 
shall  thy  strength  be.'  " 

Bessie  immediately  sought  her  own  room,  and 
bowing  in  prayer,  confidingly  told  her  heavenly 
Guide,  all  her  heart,  just  how  perplexed  she  was, 
how  anxious  to  please  her  brother,  but  above  all 
to  please  Him,  and  besought  Him  to  guide  her 
into  all  truth. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  101 

Then  arising  she  sat  herself  down  to  reflect. 
As  she  sat  there  silently  weighing  the  arguments 
for  and  against,  and  still  praying  to  be  directed,  it 
all  came  clearly  up  before  her,  that  she  had  been 
really  desiring  to  please  her  brother  rather  than 
God,  and  that  the  happiness  she  would  afford  him 
would  not  after  all  be  pure.  She  saw,  too,  how 
much  money  she  would  waste  to  adorn  her  person 
which  might  be  put  to  a  better  purpose,  how 
much  time  also  in  preparing  for  the  ball  and  at- 
tending it,  and  how  it  would  unfit  her  for  the 
next  day's  duties  both  in  mind  and  body.  It 
certainly  does  not  improve  my  mind  in  the  least, 
continued  she,  reasoning  to  herself;  in  fact  de- 
grades it ;  but  above  all,  such  places  are  debasing 
to  the  soul,  leading  one's  thoughts  away  from 
God  and  purity,  to  self,  the  world  and  earthly 
pleasures.  I  should  not  dare  to  ask  my  Saviour 
to  go  with  me,  and  ought  I  to  attend  any  place 
where  Icannot  ask  for  His  presence  ?  Surely  not ; 
then,  I  must  remain  at  home,  and  I  will,  and  bow- 
ing her  head  she  softly  murmured,  "  Oh  !  my 
Father,  give  me  strength  to  abide  by  my 
decision." 

After  a  little  more  thought  and  silent  prayer, 
Bessie  returned  to  Mrs.  Livingston  and  said, 
"  Aunty,  I  have  decided  fully  not  to  go.  The 
Lord  has  shown  me  my  duty   very  plainly  now, 


102  THE    EIuNTINGDOXS  ;    OR, 

and  I  wonder  I  have  been  so  blind  to  it  for  so 
long.  Still  I  feel  it  is  gbirg  to  be  a  great  trial  to 
tell  Edward,  He  will  think  I  am  very  foolish, 
and  will  not  see  any  sense  in  my  reasons.'5 

« Very  like,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  "but,  Bes- 
sie, you  will  find  if  you  mean  to  live  a  Chris- 
tian  life,  you  will  be  obliged  very  often  to  differ 
from  him,  and  you  must  not  shrink  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  warfare." 

Tears  filled  Bessie's  eyes  as  she  considered  this, 
and  she  could  not  reply  for  a  few  moments,  then 
she  said,  "  God  help  me  to  do  right,  and  lead 
brother  to  Him." 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  He  will,  if  you  only  have  faith 
to  plead  earnestly  for  him." 

Both  were  silent  awhile,  then,  Bessie  said, 
"  Aunty,  how  glad  I  am  that  Edward  has  gone 
away,  and  won't  return  till  Monday  ;  it  would  be 
so  hard  to  keep  refusing  him  all  the  time." 

"  Yes,  it  makes  it  much  easier  for  you,  and  you 
should  feel  grateful  to  the  Lord  for  this,"  respond- 
ed Mrs.  Livingston,  "  all  our  times  are  in  His 
hands  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bessie,  "  and  how  sweet  it  is  to 
think  so.  That  is  one  of  mother's  lexts,  "  My 
times  are  in  thy  hand,"  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  I 
mean  to  write  to  her  all  about  this  matter ;  O,  how 
much  I  have  to  tell  her  !  "  and,  leaving  the  room 
Bessie  was    jon  absorbed  in  letter  communion. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  103 

The  day  of  the  ball  arrived.  Many  were  the 
cruel  comments  and  jeers  that  Bessie  had  had 
to  endure  since  her  decision,  from  Louise  and 
Georgie,  and  she  awoke  Thursday,  trembling  to 
meet  her  brother,  for  she  was  well  aware  how  dis- 
pleased he  would  be  with  her.  She  hardly  knew 
at  what  time  he  would  enter  the  house,  and  every 
now  and  then  would  fancy  that  she  heard  his  foot- 
step. She  attended  school  as  usual,  but  it  was  a 
very  hard  task  for  her  to  place  her  mind  on  her 
lessons.  At  recess,  she  had  again  to  endure  re- 
monstrances and  unpleasant  remarks  from  some 
of  her  school  friends,  who  found  she  really  was 
not  going,  and  when  she  returned  home  she  was 
fairly  sick  from  agitation  and  worriment. 

Fearing  to  meet  Edward,  she  entered  the  house 
by  a  back  entrance,  and  proceeded  directly  to  her 
room,  where,  fastening  the  door,  she  flung  herself  in 
tears  on  to  her  bed, — but  was  disturbed  immediate- 
ly by  Louise,  who,  knocking  at  the  door,  said, 
"  Bessie,  are  you  here  ?  for  I  have  a  note  and  a 
package  from  Edward  for  you.  He  is  not  com- 
ing home  to  dinner,  business  or  something  detains 
him." 

"  Not  coming  home  to  dinner."  Ah  !  what 
sweet  relief,  those  words  were  to  Bessie.  Spring- 
ing up  she  unfastened  the  door,  and  took  the 
package  and  note,  but  made  no  remark  to  Louise, 


104  THE   HUNTINGDOXS  :    OR, 

who  said  tenderly  while  she  was  returning,  '  down 
stairs,'  "  Bessie  dear,  don't  cry.  Make  haste  ! 
you  can  get  ready  to  go  to  the  party  even  now. 
You  had  better,  for  Edward  will  be  very  angry 
with  you,  and  you  don't  know  what  he  has  sent 
you  there." 

Bessie  closed  the  door  and  opened  the  package 
and  found  a  beautiful  pearl  necklace.  She  brush- 
ed away  the  fast  coming  tears,  and  hushed  the 
violent  throbbings  of  her  heart,  then  opened  the 
note  and  read, 

"  My  Pet,  —  1  send  you  these  sweet  pearls  just  like  your 
own  self  to  wear  to-night.  DeCoutor,  as  I  wrote  Louise, 
will  be  at  the  house  at  4  o'clock,  to  dress  your  hair,  and  I 
shall  bring  the  flowers  with  me  when  I  come  home.  I  can't 
come  to  dinner.  Now  make  yourself  as  pretty  as  possible, 
for  I  intend  to  introduce  you  to  one  or  two  of  my  particular 

friends  from  D ,  to-night,  who  expect  to  be  at  the  ball. 

Yours  in  haste, 

Ned." 

Ah !  how  the  tears  came,  and  how  Bessie's 
heart  did  beat.  "  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  what 
shall  I  do  ?  "  cried  she,  arising  and  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  her  hands  folded  tightly 
around  the  box  of  pearls.  "  Oh  !  Lord  help  me, 
help  me !  "  and  thus  weeping  and  praying,  she 
passed  many  times  up  and  down  the  room,  till 
exhausted,  she  sank  upon  the  bed  and  sobbed  her 
weary  self  to  troubled  sleep. 


GLIMPSES     OF  INNER  LIFE.  105 

The  summons  for  dinner  awoke  her,  and  when 
she  raised  her  head,  she  found  it  pained  her  so 
severely  she  could  not  rise.  She  laid  it  back 
quietly  again  on  the  pillow  for  a  while,  to  hush  its 
throbbings,  but  in  vain  ;  and  touching  the  bell 
above  her,  she  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow,  moaning 
with  pain. 

A  servant  immediately  came,  and  Bessie  sent 
for  her  aunt. 

"  Why,  Bessie,"  said  she,  as  she  entered,  "  are 
you  sick  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  my  head  aches  so  hard,"  returned  she. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  she 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  felt  of  her  hands  and  pulse. 
"  How  long  has  it  ached  so  ?  " 

"  Only  since  I  woke  up,"  replied  Bessie.  "  I 
expect  it  is  because  I  have  been  crying  so  much." 

Mrs.  Livingston  made  no  inquiry  for  the  cause 
of  her  tears  ;  she  divined  what  it  was,  and  felt 
how  bitter  and  great  it  was  to  the  fresh,  joyous 
nature  before  her.  After  tenderly  administering 
some  simple  remedies  to  Bessie,  she  seated  herself 
by  her  side,  and  bathed  her  heated  head  with 
cold  water.  Soon  the  throbbing  head  was  quite 
stilled,  and  Bessie  slept  again,  to  awake  at  five 
o'clock,  refreshed  and  calmed. 

Mrs.  L.  was  in  the  room  when  she  awoke,  and 
said  to  her,  "  You  must  be  very  calm  now,  and 


106  THE  HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

keep  quiet,  if  you  do  not  wish  your  head  to  ache 
again." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  replied  Bessie ;  "  but  has  Ed- 
ward returned  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  responded  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  and  if  you 
wish,  I  will  see  him  for  you  when  he  does  come, 
as  you  are  so  unwell." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him  myself  very  much," 
said  Bessie.  "  I  feel  quite  brave  about  it  now.  I 
do  believe  the  Lord  has  given  me  strength." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  replied  Mrs.  L.  "  He 
always  gives  us  strength  for  all  he  calls  us  to  do." 

They  were  silent  a  while,  then  Bessie  said,  "  O, 
aunty,  I  know  now  how  I  will  do  ;  strange  I  have 
not  thought  of  it  before." 

"  Why,  how  will  you  do?"  inquired  Mrs.  L. 

u  I  will  write  to  him,  then  he  cannot  interrupt 
me  before  I  say  all  I  wish  to,  and  he  will  get  calm 
before  he  sees  me.  You  know  he  gets  very  excit- 
ed when  he  is  angry,  and  says  many  things  he 
does  not  mean.  Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  a 
good  way  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  "  if  you  feel  able  to  do 
it,  and  it  will  not  make  your  head  ache  again." 

"I  don't  believe  it  will,"  responded  Bessie,  "  it 
is  so  free  from  pain  now." 

"  I  would  n't  write  but  a  short  note,"  said  Mrs. 
L.  "  You  can  tell  him  what  else  you  wish  to  say 
some  other  time." 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  107 

"  Just  so,"  replied  Bessie  ;  and  then  rising,  she 
prepared  herself  slowly  to  write.  As  she  passed 
her  bureau,  she  saw  the  box  of  pearls  and  Ed- 
ward's note. 

"  Poor  Edward  !  "  said  she,  glancing  at  her 
aunt,  and  then  at  the  box  of  pearls.  "  Have  you 
seen  them  ?  " 

"Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  " I  examined  them 
when  you  were  asleep.  They  are  beautiful ;  but 
you  have  found  a  richer  pearl  than  they.  Do  you 
not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  aunty  dear.  O,  it  seems  so  sweet 
to  me  now  !  my  heart  is  full  of  love.  I  feel  just 
like  writing  to  Edward,  and  I  mean  to  tell  him 
that." 

And  thus  she  wrote  : 

Brother  Dear, — I  thank  you  very  much  for  the  beautiful 
pearls  you  have  given  me  ;  and  my  heart  is  full  of  love  to 
you,  as  I  think  how  kind  and  thoughtful  you  are  ever  towards 
your  Bessie.  And  now  feeling  all  this  love  for  you,  I  am  go- 
ing to  give  you  great  pain.  I  am  so  sorry  to  give  you  this 
pain  ;  but  for  the  sake  of  Him  who  loves  me  more  than  you 
do,  and  who  has  given  me  the  "  matchless  pearl  without 
price,"  I  do  it. 

Brother  —  /  cannot  go  to  the  ball  to-night !  I  have  prayed 
over  it,  wept  many  tears,  and  have  given  it  much  earnest  re- 
flection, and  have  fully  decided  it  would  not  be  right  to  go  ! 
Christ  is  in  my  heart,  1  know,  and  I  could  not  attend  this 
ball,  and  feel  I  had  His  presence  to  go  with  me.  It  is  not 
that  I  do  not  wish  to  please  you,  brother  ;  but  that  I  wish  to 


108  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OK, 

please  Christ  more,  that  I  have  done  this.  Do  not,  then,  feel 
displeased,  I  beseech  of  you  ;  but  foi^ive,  and  ever  love,  your 
own  Bessie. 

"  Will  that  do  ?  "  said  she  passing  it  to  Mrs. 
Livingston  to  read. 

Mrs.  Livingston  perused  it,  and  replied,  "  Yes, 
Bessie  ;  it  is  all  that  is  needed,  and  God  make  it 
an  instrument  of  good  to  his  soul." 

"  How  shall  I  get  it  to  him  ?  "  continued  Bes- 
sie. "  He  will  come  right  up  here  when  he  comes 
in." 

"  I  will  watch  for  him,  and  give  it  to  him  my- 
self," replied  Mrs.  Livingston.  "I  think  you  had 
better  lie  down  again  ;  your  cheeks  are  quite 
flushed." 

"  Yes,  and  my  head  aches  some,"  said  Bessie  ; 
"  it  is  not  so  very  strong  after  all." 

"  I  feared  it  would  not  be,"  returned  Mrs.  L. 
"  Yes,  you  lie  down,  and  when  he  comes  to  the 
door  I  will  tell  him  you  are  not  well,  and  will 
give  him  the  note." 

It  was  not  long  before  Bessie  and  Mrs.  Living- 
ston  heard  Edward's  voice,  saying,  in  reply  to 
Louise,  who  had  met  him,  and  informed  him  re- 
garding Bessie, 

DO  7 

"  Bessie  sick  !  and  not  going  to  the  ball ;  its  a 
burning  shame  !  All  Mrs.  Livingston's  doings,  I 
know." 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER  LIFE.  100 

"  Husli !  "  said  Louise. 

Edward  came  on  up  stairs,  and  knocked  rather 
impatiently  at  Bessie's  door. 

Mrs.  Livingston,  calming  herself  after  the  feel- 
ing roused  by  Edward's  remark,  and  glancing  at 
Bessie's  anxious  face  with  an  assuring  smile,  now 
took  up  the  note,  and  opening  the  door,  handed  it 
to  Edward,  saying,  "  Bessie  is  not  very  well,  and 
she  wishes  roe  to  give  you  this." 

"Isn't  she  well  enough  to  see  me,"  abruptly 
returned  he,  while  taking  the  note. 

"  No,  brother  dear,  not  now,"  said  Bessie,  so 
sweetly  and  tenderly,  that  he  made  no  farther  re- 
mark, and  passed  on  to  his  room. 

Bessie  neither  saw  nor  heard  from  him  again 
that  night,  as  she  did  not  appear  at  tea.  She 
heard  him  descend  though,  when  the  carriage 
drove  up,  and  caught  the  sound  of  Georgie  and 
Louise's  voices,  but  his  was  silent. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  away,  she  turned  her 
head  on  the  pillow,  and  glancing  upward?  softly 
murmured  these  words  she  had  learned  to  repeat 
to  her  mother  in  childhood,  little  thinking  how 
preciously  applicable  they  would  be  to  herself  one 
day  : 

"  Jesus!  I  my  cross  have  taken, 
All  to  leave,  and  follow  thee; 
Naked,  poor,  despised,  forsaken, 
Thou,  from  hence,  my  all  shall  be. 


110  THE    HUNTINGDONS. 

Perish  every  fond  ambition, 
All  I've  sought,  or  hoped,  or  known; 
Yet,  how  rich  is  my  condition, 
God  and  Heaven  are  still  my  own. 

"  Let  the  world  despise  and  leave  me, 
They  have  left  my  Saviour,  too; 
Human  hearts  and  looks  deceive  me: 
Thou  art  not,  like  them  untrue. 
Oh!  while  thou  dost  smile  upon  me, 
God  of  wisdom,  love  and  might; 
Foes  may  hate,  and  friends  disown  me, 
Show  thy  face,  and  all  is  bright. 

"  Perish  earthly  fame  and  treasure, 
Come  disaster,  scorn  and  pain; 
In  thy  service,  pain  is  pleasure, 
"With  thy  favor,  life  is  gain : 
Oh!  'tis  not  in  grief  to  harm  me, 
While  thy  love  is  left  to  me; 
Oh!  't  were  not  in  joy  to  charm  me, 
Were  that  joy  unmixed  with  Thee." 


CHAPTER  X. 

flP^HE  next  morning  Bessie  met  Edward,  as  she 
.jL       was  descending  to  the  dining-room. 

"  Good  morning,  Bessie,"  said  he,  coolly,  "  how 
do  you  find  yourself  this  morning  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal  better,"  replied  Bessie,  as  cheer- 
fully as  she  could,  for  her  sensitive  nature  marked 
too  well  the  change  in  his  manner. 

Edward  made  no  further  attempt  at  conversa- 
tion, but  whistling  a  gay,  dancing  air,  passed  on 
to  the  dining-room.  Bessie  followed.  Her  face, 
though,  had  its  wonted  smile  when  she  entered, 
and  Mrs.  Livingston  received  an  unusual  morning 
welcome. 

Louise  and  Georgie  did  not  arise  for  breakfast, 
and  it  was  rather  a  silent  family  which  gathered 
around  the  table,  as  Edward,  who  generally  led 
the  conversation,  was  evidently  in  ill-humor,  and 
the  rest  could  not  seem  to  find  a  topic.  Even  Mrs. 
Livingston's  tact  failed  her. 

Suddenly,  Edward  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork 
with  a  great  deal  of  impatience,  and  exclaimed, 
"  What  a  stupid  fellow  I  am  !     I  received  a  letter 


112  THE   HUNTINGDONS*.    OR, 

from  father  yesterday,  and  I  was  so  busy  I  forgot 
all  about  giving  it  to  you." 

"  From  father !  "  said  Bessie,  springing  up. 
"  O,  where  is  it  ?  Let  me  get  it ;  I  can't  wait 
one  moment.    Mother  !  mother  dear,  how  is  she  ?" 

Margaret's  eyes  were  flashing,  and  she  said,  in- 
dignantly, before  Bessie  finished  speaking,  "  Can 
it  be  possible,  Edward  Huntingdon,  that  you 
have  been  so  thoughtless  ?  It's  a  burning  shame  !  " 

Bessie  stopped,  and  drew  quietly  back,  for  she 
saw  the  rising  passion  in  Edward's  eyes,  and  wait- 
ed tremblingly  while  he  said,  in  compressed,  se- 
vere tones,  "  Margaret  Livingston  !  how  dare  you 
accuse  me  of  thoughtlessness  about  father  ?  You 
know  well  enough,  it  was  only  because  I  was  so 
crowded  with  business  last  night  that  I  forgot  it." 

"  Great  business  a  ball  is,"  replied  Margaret, 
her  heart  still  swelling  with  indignation. 

"  Don't !  don't !  "  said  Bessie,  laying  her  hand 
upon  Margaret's  arm,  while  Edward  instantly  re- 
plied, hardly  able  to  control  himself, 

"  It  was  not  the  ball,  and  you  know  it !  You 
had  better  been  there  yourself,  making  other  peo- 
ple happy,  than  staying  at  home  making  believe 
good.  Pretty  kind  of  goodness  that  is,  which 
gets  in  a  rage  over  such  a  little  thing. 

"  I  have  a  perfect  right,"  said  Margaret,  "  to 
be   angry  with  you  for  such   a  thoughtless  deed, 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER   LIFE.  113 

and  you  know-  perfectly  well,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  ball,  we  should  have  had  the  letter.  Where 
is  it  ?     I  hope,  surely,  this  will  be  the  last  time." 

But  Edward  had  not  heard  her  last  words,  for 
beckoning  to  Bessie,  he  had  passed  out  of  the 
room,  saying,  as  he  departed,  in  sarcastic  tones, 
"  Go  on,  go  on,  in  your  lady-like  abuse  ;  it  must 
be  exceedingly  pleasing  to  your  aunt  Living- 
ston. " 

This  lady  was  seated  at  the  table,  her  eyes  cov- 
ered with  her  hands,  silently  praying.  She  had 
tried  to  throw  oil  on  the  troubled  waters,  but  in 
vain,  and  sadly  she  turned  to  the  only  source  of 
strength  at  such  timesc 

Margaret  was  the  first  to  speak,  saying,  "  Sure- 
ly, aunt,  you  feel  as  I  do  regarding  Edward." 

Mrs.  Livingston  removed  her  hand  from  her 
face,  and  said,  feeling  it  was  not  the  time  to  ex- 
press her  mind,  "  Margaret,  I  will  tell  you  some 
other  time  how  I  feel.  Bessie  will  be  back  in  a 
moment,  and  we  shall  want  to  hear  the  letter." 

Bessie  soon  returned,  and  handed  it  to  Marga- 
ret. 

"  You  read  it,"  said  Margaret,  passing  it  back. 
"  I  do  not  feel  like  it." 

Bessie  sat  down  in  a  little  low  rocking  chair, 
near  by,  and  opening  it,  tenderly  read  it  slowly 
through.     It   was  not  encouraging,    and  a  heavy 


114  THE   HUNTINGDONS:    OR, 

weight  seemed  to  have  fallen  on  each  heart  as  she 
finished  it. 

Not  one  word  was  said  in  reply,  but  Margaret 
arose  —  her  face  colorless  and  lips  compressed  — 
and  tremblingly  passed  to  Bessie.  Taking  the 
letter,  she  left  the  room. 

"  Oh  !  mother,  dear  mother  !  "  said  Bessie, 
folding  both  hands  over  her  face  as  Margaret 
closed  the  door.  "  Oh  !  Mrs.  Livingston,  what  a 
day  !  what  a  day  !  "  and  she  rocked  herself  vio- 
lently backward  and  forward  in  her  chair. 

Mrs.  Livingston  roused  herself,  and  said,  as 
much  to  comfort  her  own  heart  as  Bessie's,  "  He 
doeth  all  things  well." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Bessie,  "  but  it  is  so  hard. 
It  seems  to  me  just  as  though  everything  was 
coming  now  to  crush  me.  Oh !  I  have  never 
known  sorrow  before." 

"  Bessie,  come  with  me,  wont  you  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Livingston,  arising,  "  the  servants  will  need  the 
table.  Come,  come  with  me,  dear,  to  my  room." 
Bessie  passively  followed.  After  Mrs.  Livingston 
closed  her  door,  she  lovingly  enfolded  Bessie  in 
her  arms,  and  said,  "  My  poor,  stricken  lamb  !  it 
seems  heavy  I  know,  for  sorrow  is,  indeed,  new  to 
you  ;  but  come,  I  have  some  very  sweet  comfort 
for  you,"  and  seating  herself  and  Bessie,  she  took 
from  the   table  near  by,  her  Bible,  and  read  the 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  115 

23d  Psalm.  Then  kneeling,  she  carried  the  sor- 
rows, trials,  and  wants  of  both,  to -the  Father 
above,  in  a  prayer  of  faith,  which  was  accepted 
and  answered ;  for  when  both  arose,  their  tranquil 
countenances  told  that  they  had  not  knelt  in  vain. 

Margaret,  on  leaving  the  dining-room,  entered 
her  own,  and  read  the  letter  a  number  of  times  ; 
then  she  took  it  in  her  hand,  and  passed  to  Louise's 
room.  She  found  Georgie  awake,  but  Louise 
asleep. 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  mother,"  said  she.  "I 
wish  you  would  wake  up  Louise  ;  I  think  she 
would  do  better  to  be  reading  it,  than  sleeping  at 
this  time  of  day." 

Georgie  woke  Louise,  but  when  she  heard  for 
what  purpose,  she  exclaimed,  "  Why  did  you 
wake  me  up  ?  just  as  though  I  could  not  read  it 
at  any  time.  Don't  disturb  me  again  !  I  want  to 
sleep." 

"  But,  Louise,  mother  is  worse,"  said  Margaret. 
"  How  can  you  sleep  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  replied  Louise,  drowsi- 
ly, "  I  am  so  sleepy  !  I'll  be  up  pretty  soon  ;  just 
leave  the  letter  on  the  table." 

"  O,  dear  !  "  said  Margaret,  "  how  can  she 
feel  so !  "  and  passing  the  letter  to  Georgie  to 
read,  she  left  the  room. 

Georgie  had  only  read  it  part  through,  when 
Louise  awoke,  and  saw  what  she  was  doing. 


116  THE   HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

"  Dear  me,"  said  she,  endeavoring  to  rouse  her- 
self, "  how  sleepy  I  am  !  What  is  it  ?  mother 
worse.     Read  it  to  me,  Georgie  ?  " 

Georgie  commenced,  but  ere  she  finished,  Lou- 
ise was  asleep  once  more  —  her  delicate  frame  en- 
tirely exhausted  by  her  night's  dissipation. 

Georgie  did  not  attempt  to  arouse  her  again, 
but  laid  the  letter  just  where  she  would  see  it, 
when  she  did  awake,  which  was  not  till  near 
noon. 

By  the  afternoon,  Louise  was  quite  rested,  and 
descended  to  the  parlor  at  four  o'clock,  to  receive 
her  friend,  Bell  Rivers. 

"  Why,  Bell,"  said  she,  "  how  could  you  come 
out  to-day  ?     I'm  entirely  worn  out  ?  " 

"  Poor,  feeble  girl !  "  replied  Bell.  "  I  wouldn't 
have  such  a  weak  constitution  as  you  possess,  for 
anything  !  Why,  I  could  go  to  another  ball  to- 
night, and  dance  just  as  long,  too,  without  scarce- 
ly feeling  it." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  could,"  returned  Louise, 
"  you  are  so  strong  ;  but  I  have  always  been  one 
of  the  weak  ones.  We  have  heard  bad  news  from 
mother,  too,  and  that  makes  me  feel  still  worse." 

"  Ah  !  "  responded  Bell,  thoughtfully,  "  she  is 
worse  ;  then  that  is  probably  what  ailed  Ned  this 
morning.  He  called,  on  the  way  down  town,  and 
I  could  not  imagine  what  was  the  matter,  he  was 
so  surly. 


GLIMPSES    OF  INNER    LIFE.  .117 

"Probably  so,"  said  Louise,  "  and  I  guess  he's 
provoked,  too,  with  Bessie,  for  staying  at  home 
last  night." 

"  How  foolish  she  was,"*  returned  Bell.  "  By 
the  way,  did  you  notice  how  soon  Mr.  Belmont 
went  home.  He  didn't  probably  care  to  stay,  as 
long  as  his  great  attraction  was  minus." 

"  No ;  I  didn't  notice  him  at  all,"  replied 
Louise,  "  I  was  so  much  engaged." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  you  was,"  responded  Bell  ;  "  A 
very  line  young  man  that  Mr.  Carleton.  By  the 
way,  let  me  tell  you  a  little  conversation  I  over- 
heard between  him  and  Mrs.  Sargent.  They  were 
speaking  of  some  ladies  with  whose  conduct  it 
seemed  to  me  they  were  very  much  disgusted. 
I  could  not  make  out  who  they  were,  or  exactly 
what  they  said.  I  was  curious,  so  I  drew  a  little 
closer  to  them  and  heard  Mr.  Carlton  say,  '  I  agree 
with  •  you,  it  is  indeed  a  pity  that  such  beautiful 
young  ladies,  should  be  so  forward  and  thought- 
less ;  such  conduct  destroys  all  their  beauty  for 
me.'  '  And  the  trouble  of  it  is,'  returned  Mrs. 
Sargent,  i  that  were  you  to  tell  these  young  ladies 
their  conduct  was  unbecoming,  you  could  scarcely 
persuade  them  of  the  truth  of  it.  They  would 
think  you  were  actuated  hv  envy  or  jealousy,  and 
wished  them  to  behave  more  modestly  only  to 
from   receiving    attention.'       '  Yes,  I 


118  THE    HUNTINGDON S  ;    OR, 

presume  it  would  be  so,'  said  Mr.  Carlton.  '  I  of- 
ten think  such  conduct  arises  from  a  desire  to 
please,  but  their  very  efforts  defeat  their  purposes. 
If  they  would  only  remember  that  modesty  and 
simplicity  are  the  two  greatest  gems  of  woman- 
hood, they  would  succeed  better.'  'And  would 
be  natural,'  replied  Mrs.  Sargent,  '  and  give  more 
correct  impressions  of  themselves.'  Just  here  Ed- 
ward came  up  and  wished  me  to  dance.  I  won- 
dered all  the  while  I  was  dancing  whether  I  was 
not  one  of  those  persons  they  had  been  describing. 
I  think  myself  I  was  pretty  wild  last  nighty  but 
there,  I  don't  care  !  one  might  as  well  enjoy  the 
world  while  she  is  in  it,  and  after  all,  people  don't 
think  alike." 

Louise  made  but  little  reply  to  Miss  Rivers. 
She  felt  what  Mr.  Carleton  and  Mrs.  Sargent  had 
said  was  true,  and  now  she  wished  she  had  been 
more  simple  and  retiring. 

But  little  did  either  of  them  think  that  they  were 
the  young  ladies  referred  to  by  Mrs.  Sargent  and 
Mr.  Carleton.  It  was  indeed  so,  and  as  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  watched  Louise  during  the  evening,  he  deter- 
mined out  of  kindness  to  his  old  friend  Edward, 
and  interest  in  Louise,  to  speak  some  time  indi- 
rectly to  her  upon  the  subject.  He  had  already 
well  studied  Louise's  character,  though  he  had* 
met  her  but  a  few   times,  and  thought  an  indirect 


GLIMPSES    OF   INNER   LIFE.  119 

reproof  from  a  stranger  might  perhaps  effect  more 
good  than  the  same  reproof  from  one  who  was 
constantly  with  her. 

Louise  and  Bell  continued  their  conversation  some 
time  longer,  till  finally,  Bell  casually  glancing  out 
of  the  window  observed  Edward  returning  home. 

"  Here  comes  Edward,"  said  she  to  Louise,  and 
then  instantly  turned  to  the  piano  and  commenced 
playing  rapidly. 

Edward  entered  the  parlor,  and  seeing  Bell,  ex- 
claimed, "  Why,  Bell,  I  thought  you  said  you 
could  not  go  out  to-day." 

She  only  shook  her  head  for  a  reply,  and  contin- 
ued her  piece.  Edward  waited,  evidently  annoyed, 
a  few  moments,  and  then  Bell  turned  round  and  said, 

"  Your  pleasure,  sir." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  couldn't  go  out,  to- 
day," again  said  he. 

"  So  I  did,"  returned  Bell ;  "  but  1  changed  my 
mind  —  the  privilege  of  all  ladies,  I  believe.  I 
thought  I  would  come  down  and  see  Louise,  and 
find  out  how  you  were  this  afternoon.  It  seems 
to  me  you  are  rather  cross  yet." 

"  Well,  you  are  enough  to  make  any  one  cross," 
replied  he. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  returned  Bell,  provokingly, 
and  then  she  turned  round  to  the  piano  and  com- 
menced playing  rapidly  as  before.  Louise,  fear- 
ing what  might  follow,  now  left  the  room. 


120  THE   HUNTINGDONS. 

Edward  Huntingdon  listened  to  Bell  for  a  while, 
as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  waiting  for 
her  to  cease  and  speak  with  him.  Finally,  he 
said,  "  Bell,  I  wish  you  would  stop  playing  ;  I 
want  to  speak  with  you." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,"  returned 
she,  impatiently,  still  running  lightly  over  the 
keys. 

"  Matter  enough,"  replied  he,  bitterly,  "  for  one 
day.  A  quarrel  with  Margaret,  Bessie  acting 
like  a  simpleton,  bad  news  from  mother,  and  you 
a  perfect  torment  to  me  all  the  time.  I  declare, 
I'll  never  go  to  another  ball  where  you  are,  if  you 
conduct  as  you  did  last  night !  I  have  had  a 
quarrel  with  Belmont,  too,  just  on  your  account 
and  Louise's.  He  thinks  you  are  both  i  heartless 
flirts,'  and  had  the  impertinence  to  tell  me  some 
speeches  he  heard  made  about  you  at  the  -  club.' 
I  should  think,  Bell,  for  my  sake,  you  would  keep 
yourself  more  select." 

"  Indeed,  I  will !  "  replied  she,  rising,  and 
speaking  in  a  very  excited  tone  of  voice.  "  I  un- 
derstand Mr.  Belmont,  perfectly.  He  hates  me 
himself,  and  now  would  prejudice  you  against 
me,  by  repeating  the  petty  remarks  of  some  foolish 
young  man,  whose  attentions,  perhaps,  I  have  re- 
fused/' 

"  No,  Bell,  it's  not  so,"  replied  Edward.     "  He 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  121 

is  your  friend,  and  for  your  good  he  said  it ;  and 
the  gentlemen  who  made  the  remarks,  are  not  of 
your  acquaintance ;  they  only  spoke  from  observa- 
tion. I  do  wish  —  "  but  here  Bell  arose  to  leave 
the  room.  "  Stop  !  "  exclaimed  Edward,  endeav- 
oring to  detain  her,  "  and  listen  to  reason." 

"Let  me  pass,"  said  she,  very  angrily. 

And  he  let  her  go,  crushing  down  a  heart  full 
of  tumultuous  feelings. 

Bell  passed  to  Louise's  room,  and  entering, 
said,  quick  and  nervously,  "  Louise,  do  get  me  my 
hat  for  pity's  sake  !  Ned's  got  one  of  his  jealous 
fits,  and  is  just  as  hateful  as  he  can  be.  He  says 
Belmont's  been  telling  dreadful  stories  about  us. 
He  wont  see  me  for  one  while,  that's  certain,"  and 
gathering  up  her  dress,  she  passed  quickly  down 
the  stairs,  and  out  the  house. 

Louise  did  not  venture  near  her  brother  ;  she 
knew  it  would  be  no  use  ;  beside,  she  feared  to 
hear  what  he  might  tell  her.  Her  conscience  was 
far  from  at  rest. 

The  same  afternoon  that  the  above  took  place, 
Mrs.  Livingston  sought  the  room  of  Margaret. 

"  Margaret,  I  have  come,"  said  she,  as  she  en- 
tered, "  to  speak  about  the  unfortunate  occurrence 
of  this  morning." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Margaret,  "  I  should  be 
pleased  to  hear  you,  for  I  have  been  wondering  all 


122  '  THE    HUNTINGDONS  ;    OR, 

day,  how  you  could  feel  that  Edward   had  done 
right." 

"  Did  I  say  that  he  had  done  right  ?  "  question- 
ed Mrs.  L. 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  returned  Margaret,  "  but 
you  didn't  say  he  had  done  wrong." 

"  No,  I  know  I  did  not  then,  but  I  will  tell  you 
how  I  feel  now.  He  was,  indeed,  very  thought- 
less, and  I  cannot  blame  you  for  feeling  offended 
at  him,  but  I  do  blame  you  for  the  manner  in 
which  you  spoke  to  him  ;  it  was  harsh  and  dicta- 
torial, and  only  provoked  his  passion.  Had  you 
spoken  lovingly  and  mildly,  we  should  have  been 
spared  such  an  exhibition  of  passion,  and  your  re- 
proof would  have  effected  good.  As  it  is,  he  feels 
only  resentment,  and  you  have  placed  us  all  in  an 
unpleasant  position." 

"  I  do  not  know  why  one  should  speak  so  coax- 
ingly  and  soothingly  to  another,  when  they  have 
committed  a  wrong.  I  believe  in  speaking  of 
things  as  they  are,  and  condemning  wrong,  decid- 
edly and  firmly." 

"  Is  there  not  such  a  thing  as  gentle  decision," 
said  Mrs.  L.,  "  and  if  you  feel  just  anger  for  an 
offence,  ought  you  not  just  as  much  to  pity  the  of- 
fender ?  Tell  me,  which  feeling  occupied  your 
heart  most  at  the  time,  pity  or  anger  ?  " 

"  Anger,  I  suppose,"  truthfully  returned  Mar- 
garet.     c4 1  don't  think  I  had  any  pity." 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE  123 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  thought ;  but  don't  you 
think  if  you  had  had  pity,  you  would  have  spoken 
more  mildly." 

"  Certainly  ;  but  Oh  !  dear  aunt,  you  look  at 
things  in  a  very  different  light  from  what  I  do. 
You  think,  then,  I  really  spoke  to  Edward  in  a 
wrong  manner,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  "  I  do  ;  you  were  too 
severe.  I  admire  the  strong  sense  of  justice  you 
seem  to  possess  ;  but  don't  forget,  will  you,  to 
ever  let  '  mercy  season  it.'  Now,  you  think  and 
pray  over  this  matter,  and  see  if  you  cannot  re- 
gard it  as  I  do,"  and  Mrs.  Livingston  left  Marga- 
ret to  herself. 

Margaret  sat  quietly  for  some  time,  reasoning 
upon  what  her  aunt  had  said.  She  prayed  over 
the  matter,  too,  and  finally  saw  plainly  that  she 
had  erred. 

"  And  now  what"  shall  I  do,"  thought  she ; 
must  I  tell  Edward  so  ?  how  can  I."  And  then 
for  another  period,  she  argued  with  duty  and 
pride.  Duty  conquered,  and  she  resolved  her 
first  opportunity  to  acknowledge  her  wrong  to 
Edward.  Margaret  Huntingdon  had  just  the  dis- 
position of  which  martyrs  are  made.  Let  her 
judgment  be  convinced  of  the  right  of  a  matter, 
and  she  would  make  any  sacrifice  rather  than 
yield  this  right. 


1  24  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :   OE, 

The  same  evening  afforded  her  a  chance  to 
speak  to  Edward,  for  he  came  in  early  from  his 
'  club.'  He  had  but  just  entered  his  room,  when 
he  heard  Margaret's  knock. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he,  expecting  to  see  Bessie. 

u  O,  it's  you,"  said  he,  rather  grufly.  "  What 
do  you  wish  ?  " 

"  To  speak  with  you  a  few  moments." 

"  Well,  sit  down,"  returned  he  in  the  same  tone, 
though  slightly  modified. 

"  I  had  rather  stand,"  said  Margaret ;  "  I  have 
but  little  to  say.  This  morning,  I  think  I  spoke 
too  severely  to  you.  I  felt  too  much  anger,  or 
rather  I  did  not  feel  pity  enough,  and  I  trust  you 
will  forgive  and  forget  it."  Margaret's  voice 
trembled  quite  evidently  on  these  last  words. 

"  Come,  sit  down  here,  Margaret,"  replied  Ed- 
ward, pointing  to  the  lounge.     "  I  want  to  talk  to 

you." 

Margaret  seated  herself  silently  beside  him. 

"  Margaret,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  hear 
you  say  so.  I  deserved  your  anger,  and  the  an- 
ger of  all  the  rest ;  and  you  cannot,  any  of  you, 
feel  more  provoked  at  me,  than  I  was  and  am,  at 
myself,  for  my  thoughtlessness.  I  am  ashamed, 
too,  that  I  got  into  such  a  passion,  but,  Margaret, 
you  provoked  me  to  it.  You  know  you  have  al- 
ways had  a  great  influence  over  me,  and  there  is 


GLIMPSES  OF  INKKI1  LIFE.  125 

much  I  love  and  respect  in  you  ;  but.  since  you 
have  joined  the  church,  you  hare  become  so  se- 
vere in  your  remarks,  and  particular  about  some 
things,  that  you  make  me  perfectly  unhappy. 
Now  mother  is  a  Christian,  and  your  aunt  is  one  ; 
but  mother  is  very  different  from  you,  and  the 
short  time  your  aunt  has  been  here,  I  can  see  she 
differs  also.  I  wish  you  would  copy  after  her, 
and  you  would  be  a  more  cheerful  Christian,  I 
think." 

"  Christ  is  our  only  example,"  replied  Margaret, 
"and  I  do  try  to,be  like  him,  but  I  err  like  all 
mortals.  I  see  myself,  I  am  not  like  Mrs.  Living- 
ston, and  I  know  mother  often  reproved  me  ;  but 
I  used  to  feel  mother's  sickness  made  her  too 
lenient  to  the  faults  of  others,  and  so  did  not  give 
much  heed  to  what  she  said.  However,  I  will 
try,"  continued  she,  while  rising  from  the  lounge, 
"  to  be  less  severe,  and  may  I  not  hope,  brother, 
that  you  will  also  endeavor  to  be  more  thought- 
ful." 

"  Yes,  Margaret,  I  will.  I  can  assure  you,  I 
feel  exceedingly  thoughtful  to-night." 

"  God  bless  you,"  said  Margaret,  in  return,  and 
quietly  passed  out  the  room. 

But  Edward  had  hardly  closed  the  door  after 
her,  before  he  opened  it  again  to  admit  Bessie 
he  was  sure  this  time. 


126  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  Bless  your  little  heart,"  said  he,  taking  her 
into  his  arms,  and  kissing  her  again  and  again. 
u  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  here." 

"  You  are,"  said  she,  in  evident  surprise  ;  "  why 
I  was  almost  afraid  to  come." 

"  O  Bessie,  dear,"  returned  he,  "  never  be 
afraid  to  come  to  me,  no  matter  if  you  have  been 
so  naughty  as  to  make  brother  unhappy ;  he 
loves  you  so  dearly,  faults  and  all,  that  he  could 
never  be  long  vexed  at  you." 

"  Then  you  don't  care  for  last  night,  do  you  ?  " 
said  she,  looking  clear  up  into  his  face. 

"  Not  much,"  replied  he,  sadly.  "  I  only  wish 
I  had  been  at  home  with  you.  I  think  I  should 
have  been  happier." 

"Why,  what  was  the  matter?"  inquired  she, 
anxiously. 

"O,  nothing,"  responded  he,  evasively.  "  Noth- 
ing I  want  to  tell  you  anyway.  O,  pet,  this  is  a 
weary  world  !  " 

"  Brother,"  said  she,  pityingly,  "  I  am  very  sor- 
ry you  are  so  unhappy  to-night.  I  wish  I  could 
cheer  you  some  way  ;  don't  feel  so  bad,"  and  she 
laid  her  soft  cheek  against  his. 

"  Ah  !  pet,  you  do  comfort  me,"  replied  he, 
brushing  away  a  tear.  "  Sweet  little  sister,  you 
are  my  oasis." 

And  thus  they  talked  for  a  long  time    some- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE  127 

times  sadly,  sometimes  thoughtfully,  sometimes 
merrily,  till  the  clock,  striking  eleven,  startled 
both  of  them  ;  and  then  reluctantly  Edward  sent 
away,  to  her  own  room,  his  precious  comforter. 

."  How  happy  I  am,"  thought  Bessie,  as  she  laid 
her  head  on  her  pillow  that  night.  "  O,  if  I 
could  only  just  see  sweet  mother  now,  to  say  and 
kiss  i  good  night,'  my  cup  of  happiness  would,  in- 
deed, be  full." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

I^HE  days  following  the  events  in  the  preced- 
ing chapter,  were  full  of  wholesome  thought 
to  each  member  of  the  Huntingdon  family.  Day 
by  day,  they  anxiously  received  news  from  their 
mother :  sometimes  it  was  cheering,  and  each 
ODe's  step  would  be  lighter,  and  voice  merrier,  for 
that  day,  only  to  be  changed  again  on  the  morrow. 
Thus  kept  fluctuating  between  hope  and  fear,  as  a 
fortnight  passed  away,  and  then  came  a  number 
of  days  the  comforting  assurance,  "  your  mother 
is  really  better,"  so  the  conviction  settled  upon 
each  heart  that  the  worst  was  passed,  and  mother 
would  yet  come  home  again. 

During  this  time,  Mr.  Leslie,  the  pastor  of  the 
Huntingdon  family,  called  a  number  of  times,  to 
sympathize  with  them,  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  to  converse  with  Bessie. 

He  was  one  of  those  shepherds  who  is  ever  on 
the  alert  to  feed  his  lambs.  Many  a  time  had  he 
led  the  grief-stricken  ones  down  by  the  "still  wa- 
ters," the  famishing  to  the  rich  pastures,  and  the 
sin-stained  to   the   ever-flowing  Fountain,  where 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIEE.  129 

they  might  wash  and  be  clean.  He  could  call  his 
flock  all  by  name,  and  often  he  looked  them  over, 
to  see  that  no  one  was  missing,  or  had  strayed 
from  the  fold.  When  any  strayed,  he  followed 
hard  after  them,  and  with  loving  representations 
of  the  peaceful  fold  they  had  left,  and  its  exceed- 
ing great  privileges,  he  induced  them  to  return. 

Deeply  loved  and  respected  by  all  his  people, 
and  highly  spoken  of  by  the  world,  he  yet  stood 
meekly  and  lowly,  pointing  all  to  Christ.  The 
world  looked  on,  and  said,  "  so  much  praise  and 
homage  will  ruin  him  ;  "  but  he,  seeking  only  the 
praise  of  his  Father,  and  feeling  how  little  he  ac- 
complished for  Him,  to  what  he  desired ;  how 
much  more  of  Christ  he  wished,  aye,  intensely 
hungered  for  ;  how  vain  was  all  earthly  commen- 
dation ;  what  an  account  he  must  render  of  the 
great  power  and  talents  committed  to  him,,  felt  not 
the  might  of  that  subtile,  soul-destroying  praise, 
so  ruinous  to  those  who  are  not  protected  by  the 
panoply  of  Christ.  The  world  erred,  as  they  ever 
do,  in  measuring  Heaven,  taught,  by  an  earthly 
standard,  and  just  here  is  one  of  the  mysteries 
they  comprehend,  not  in  our  glorious  religion. 

It  was  well  for  Margaret  Huntingdon  that  she 
now  sat  under  his  preaching.  She  was  not  one 
that  he  had  led  to  the  Lamb  of  God,  for  she  had 
embraced  religion    away   from   home,   and  under 


130  THE   HUNTINGDON  :     OR, 

very  different  teachings.  When  she  came  to 
unite  with  the  church,  he  saw  very  plainly  her 
mistaken  ideas  ;  but  felt  that  the  One  who  had 
taught  her  so  much  truth,  would  perfect  that 
which  he  had  commenced,  and  that  these  errors 
would  soon  disappear,  under  the  light  which  com- 
eth  from  above.  He  lent  her  books  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  forgot  not  her  case  when  preparing  food 
for  his  flock. 

The  day  when  he  first  called  at  the  Hunting- 
dons,  he  saw  no  one  but  Bessie,  the  rest  of  the 
family  being  away.  She  had  just  returned  from 
school,  and  with  pleasure,  but  still  timidly,  she  en- 
tered Mr.  Leslie's  presence. 

"  Miss  Bessie,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  vou,"  said 
he,  as  she  entered.     "  How  are  you  ?  " 

"  Yery  well,"  replied  Bessie. 

"  In  body  and  in  mind,"  said  he,  pleasantly. 

She  gave  him  a  sharp,  quick  look,  and  compre- 
hending all  he  meant,  replied,  quietly, 

"  Yes,  all  well." 

"  All  well,"  returned  he,  emphasizing  the  all. 
"  Ah  !  Bessie,  how  much  that  implies.  The  soul 
that  was  once  sick,  cured  by  the  great  Physician, 
a  restoration  over  which  the  angels  in  Heaven  re- 
joice with  exceeding  joy.  O,  Bessie,  I  congratu- 
late you  on  your  recovery ;  but,  my  child,  be 
careful,  be   careful.      Remember,  that  you  have 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  131 

just  been  cured,  you  are  weak  and  have  but  little 
strength,  so  keep  near  the  great  Physician,  and 
Pie  will  aid  you,  and  day  by  day  you  will  grow 
stronger,  and  able  to  bear  the  strong  meat  of  the 
gospel." 

Tears  were  in  Bessie's  eyes,  and  she  replied, 
"  Yes,  I  know  I  am  weak.  O,  how  weak  !  I  can- 
not go  one  step  alone." 

"  No,  indeed,"  smilingly  responded  Mr.  Leslie. 
"  You  are  like  the  little  babe  attempting  to  walk  ; 
but  courage,  keep  firmly  hold  the  Master's  hand, 
and  though  you  may  tremble,  you  will  not  fall ; 
He  will  save.  I  cannot  impress  too  strongly  upon 
your  mind,  the  necessity  of  feeling  that  Christ  is 
all  to  you  —  your  Saviour,  Keeper,  Leader,  ever 
present,  ever  ready,  ever  willing.  Too  many 
Christians  regard  Him  correctly  only  in  one  light, 
as  their  Saviour  from  past  sin;  and  as  a  good 
missionary  lady  has  written,  '  they  then  set  about 
trying  to  subdue  sin  in  themselves,  or  rather  pray- 
ing God  to  enable  them  to  do  it  of  themselves, 
without  exercising  faith  in  Christ  to  purify  their 
hearts,  just  as  they  did  exercise  that  faith  for  their 
conversion.'  They,  in  fact,  lean  mostly  upon 
themselves,  and  their  own  endeavors,  and  this  is 
why  you  see-  so  few  growing  Christians.  Ah  ! 
Bessie,  none  but  Christ,  none  but  Christ.  We  are 
powerless  ;  we  are  nothing,  but  He  is   able,  He 


132  THE    HUNTIXGDOXS  ;    OR," 

will  lead  you,  '  guide  you  into  all  truth  ; '  then 
drop  yourself  upon  his  sustaining  arms,  and  be- 
seech Him  to  work  in  you  that  which  is  well 
pleasing  in  His  sight.  My  child,  you  look  anx- 
ious, why  so  ?  " 

"Because,  Mr.  Leslie,  it  seems  such  a  great 
thing  to  be  a  Christian.  O,  I  do  want  to  be  an 
earnest,  devoted  one  !  " 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  The  Di- 
vine Master  says,  '  Blessed  are  those  who  hunger 
and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shall  be 
filled.'  Doubt  not,  His  promises  never  fail.  Press 
forward,  He  will  give  you  as  much  of  Himself  as 
you  desire  ;  there  are  no  limits  to  his  abundance. 
Let  me  repeat  a  few  of  the  precious  promises  : 
'  According  to  your  faith  be  it  unto  you.'  '  And 
whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  my  naxe,  that  will  I 
do.'  '  If  ye  shall  ask  anything  in  my  name,  I  will 
do  it.'  '  Hitherto  ye  have  asked  nothing  in  my 
name  ;  ask  and  ye  shall  receive,  that  your  joy  may 
be  full.'  '  If  ye  then  being  evil,  know  how  to  give 
good  gifts  unto  your  children  ;  how  much  more 
shall  your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven,  give  good 
things  to  them  that  ask  Him.'  '  If  ye  abide  in  me, 
and  my  words  abide  in  you,  ye  shall  ask  what  ye 
will,  and  it  shall  be  done  unto  you.'  '  Now,  unto 
him  that  is  able  to  do,  exceeding,  abundantly 
above  all  that  we  can  ask  or  think,  &c.'  Are  thev 
not  precious  and  assuring  ?  " 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  133 

"  Yes,  very,  "  replied  Bessie.  "  But  they  are 
bO  strong,  my  mind  seems  utterly  unable  to  grasp 
them." 

"Well,"  encouragingly  returned  Mr.  Leslie, 
"  grow  in  grace,  and  you  will  find  yourself  more 
and  more  able  to  grasp  them.  Remember,  also, 
the  Master  teacheth  unlike  earthly  teachers,  and 
spiritual  growth  is  not  confined  to  intellect  or  age. 
By  the  way,  Miss  Bessie,  judging  from  what  your 
mother  told  me,  you  must  have  a  very  precious 
Christian  counsellor  in  your  aunt.  I  was  at  first 
a  little  disappointed  when  the  servant  told  me  she 
was  not  at  home  ;  but-  when  I  found  that  you 
were,  and  that  I  could  see  you  alone,  I  could  but 
thank  God  for  giving  me  such  an  opportunity  ; 
and  it  has  been  a  precious  season  to  me,  my  child. 
However,  I  will  call  again  next  week  (Wednes- 
day), Providence  permitting,  and  trust  then  to  see 
Mrs.  Livingston  and  the  rest  of  the  family." 

"  They  will  certainly  be  at  home,"  returned 
Bessie  ;  "  and  aunt  Livingston  will  be  disappoint- 
ed, I  know,  that  she  was  not  at  home  to-day,  for 
she  desires  very  much  to  see  you." 

Mr.  Leslie  sat  some  time  longer,  conversing 
about  Mrs.  Huntingdon,  and  then  Bessie  men- 
tioned Mr.  Belmont's  case  to  him. 

"  Ah  !  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  such  an  account 
of  him,"  replied  Mr.  Leslie.     "  I  have  long  been 


134  THE   HUNTINGDON. 

interested  in  him,  and  now  I  shall  wait  with  eager- 
ness, an  opportunity  to  speak  with  him.  J  trust 
the  Lord  will  soon  open  up  a  way." 

Mr.  Leslie  left  soon  after  ;  but  not  before  he 
had  commended  his  precious  lamb  to  the  great 
Shepherd's  watchfulness  and  care. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

FEW  clays  after  Mr.  Leslie  called,  Mr.  Bel- 
mont and  Bessie  met  at  a  horse-back  party, 
which  Edward  had  arranged  for  his  and  Marga- 
ret's birth-clay. 

It  was  a  bright,  pleasant  afternoon,  that  the 
party  started  from  Hill-side  for  Easy  Hall,  Mrs. 
Livingston's  home. 

Edward  rode  with  Margaret.  Bell  Rivers  was 
not  present  —  "  a  pressing  engagement,"  she  in- 
formed Edward,  "  would  prevent  her  accepting 
his  very  kind  invitation."  Her  pressing  engage- 
ment did  not  prevent  her  though  from  watching 
the  party  through  a  closed  blind  as  they  passed 
her  father's  house,  and  was  not  en£aa;mof  enough 
to  enable  her,  during  the  whole  afternoon,  to  for- 
get, for  five  minutes,  the  horse-back  party.  Tru- 
ly, like  many  others,  she  punished  herself  more 
than  any  one  else,  in  her  endeavors  for  revenge. 

Edward,  I  said,  rode  with  Margaret,  and  though 
he  frowned  and  bit  his  teeth  as  he  passed  Bell's 
home,  yet  he  soon  banished  all  thoughts  of  her, 
and  found  himself  quite  content,  while  endeavor- 


138  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

ing  to  promote  the  happiness  of  Margaret.  He 
had  been  greatly  pleased  at  Margaret's  confession, 
and  had  earnestly  determined  to  be  a  more  loving 
and  charitable  brother  to  her. 

While  riding  leisurely  along,  discussing  upon 
the  scenery  about  them,  Margaret's  horse  was 
suddenly  startled,  and  pulling  her  rein  quickly, 
she  heard  immediately  Bessie's  merry  voice,  say- 
ing, "  Now  for  a  race,  Margaret." 

Mr.  Belmont  joined  in,  too,  while  passing  Ed- 
ward, saying,  "  Come  on,  sir ;  see  who'll  reach  the 
toll-gate  first.     Its  only  a  mile." 

On  they  dashed,  the  merry  company,  Bessie 
and  Mr.  Belmont  ahead  ;  Margaret  and  Edward, 
and  a  number  of  others  following,  till  finally  Lou- 
ise Huntingdon  and  Mr.  Carleton,  brought  up  the 
rear.  Louise  galloped  a  few  paces,  and  then  sud- 
denly stopped. 

Mr.  Carleton  turned  back  as  soon  as  he  missed 
her,  and  anxiously  asked,  "  What  is  the  trouble, 
Miss  Huntingdon  ?  " 

"  O,  nothing,"  said  she,  "  only  I  have  no  taste 
for  such  a  galloping  chase  over  such  a  road  as 
this,"  and  she  smoothed  her  hair,  and  arranged  her 
slightly  disordered  dress. 

Mr.  Carleton  paced  leisurely  along,  determined 
to  please  Louise,  who,  though  she  saw  the  party 
were  waiting  for  her  at  the  toll-gate,  didnt  hurry 
in  the  least. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  137 

"  Now,  do  be  amiable  to-day,"  said  Georgie,  as 
Louise  reined  her  horse  up  by  Georgie's. 

"  Do  you  be  amiable,"  returned  Louise,  in  a 
very  low  tone,  while  glancing  furtively  towards 
Mr.  Carleton,  "  and  not  find  fault  with  me  to- 
day." 

They  passed  on,  Louise  and  Mr.  Carleton  ever 
in  the  rear.  Their  conversation  was  very  ramb- 
ling at  first,  till  finally  Mr.  Carleton  casually  men- 
tioned Europe,  and  Louise  began  to  question  him 
with  all  that  eagerness  and  curiosity  American 
girls  have  for  this  fairy  land  of  their  imagination. 
He  told  her  —  and  he  found  her,  indeed,  a  silent, 
interested  listener  —  of  its  wonders  and  works, 
both  in  nature  and  art.  At  last  he  spoke  of  the 
people,  and  the  women  he  had  met  ;  and  in  a  sort 
of  indifferent  manner,  he  mentioned  the  difference 
he  had  found  between  many  of  them  and  his  own 
country  women,  especially  the  younger  ladies. 

Louise  winced  many  times  at  his  remarks,  and 
somehow  her  eyes,  which  had  rested  so  easily  on 
Mr.  Carleton  when  she  started  upon  her  ride, 
were  rarely  turned  upon  him  now,  and  when  they 
were  lifted  for  a  moment,  were  very  soon  dropped 
again.  A  narrow  observer  could  yery  well  dis- 
cover she  was  ill  at  ease.  The  subject  of  the  con- 
versation annoyed  her  ;  and  though  all  that  Mr. 
Carleton   said   was    very   interesting,  she    would 


138  THE   HUNTINGDON  ;    OR, 

rather  have  had  him  say  it  to  a  crowd  than  to  her 
alone.  It  seemed  personal  and  corrective.  He 
did  not  try  to  mark  the  effect  of  what  he  said  to 
her.  With  a  tender,  deep  respect  for  woman,  he 
knew  too  well  she  could  but  feel  it,  and  he  wished 
not  that  she  should  suspect  his  intention  ;  and 
with  the  same  feeling,  he  echoed  immediately  her 
avertive  remark  concerning  the  desolateness  of  the 
scenery  around.  Then  he  repeated,  with  much 
feeling  and  deep  pathos,  Bryant's*  beautiful  poem, 

"  The  melancholy  days  have  come, 
The  saddest  of  the  year," 

His  earnest,  truthful  tones,  had  a  strange  effect 
upon  Louise,  for  suddenly  she  gave  rein  to  her 
horse,  and  with  a  sudden  laugh,  which  had  an 
aching  tone  in  it,  bade  him  follow,  "  she  was  ready 
for  a  race  now." 

"  What  a  coarse  nature,"  thought  he,  as  he  fol- 
lowed her,  "  hidden  under  such  a  beautiful  exte- 
rior. How  could  she  laugh  after  that  poem  ? " 
Mr.  Carleton  did  not  understand  Louise  just  then. 

"  Come,  Bessie,  I'm  ready  for  you  now,"  said 
Louise  lightly,  as  she  rode  up  to  her. 

"  Well,"  returned  Bessie,  starting  immediately 
on,  while  Mr.  Carleton  and  Belmont  followed  the 
merry  girls. 

Bessie  won  by  a  long  distance,  and  when  she 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  139 

stopped,  she  turned  her  horse  and  lowly  bowed  to 
the  discomfited  ones. 

Ah  !  she  was  a  pretty  picture  just  then,  resting 
so  mischievously  quiet  on  her  "  little  grey,"  her 
flushed  face  supported  by  a  little,  white  hand, 
while  her  rich  brown  eyes  peeped  full  of  merri- 
ment from  between  her  tangled  curls. 

All  rode  slowly  up,  gazing  admiringly  on  the 
little  figure  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  so  distinct 
between  them  and  the  nearly  setting  sun.  She 
moved  not,  all  unconscious  of  the  admiration  she 
was  exciting,  till  the  party  nearly  reached  her ; 
then  gathering  her  reins  she  turned  her  horse, 
and  shaking  her  head,  exclaimed,  "  O,  what  sorry 
gallants  !  What  shall  I  do  if  i  grey  '  runs  with 
me?" 

"  Run  with  him,"  said  Belmont,  laughingly. 
"  I  guess  he  would  n't  throw  you.  Glorious  fel- 
low," continued  he,  patting  the  horse's  proudly 
arched  neck  ;  and  then  bending  a  little  nearer 
towards  Bessie,  concluded  in  lower  tones,  "  Just 
like  his  mistress  exactly." 

Bessie  heard  all  the  remark  distinctly  ;  but 
somehow  a  reply  would  n't  come,  so  she  was  si- 
lent. 

The  party  reached  Easy  Hall  just  at  sunset, 
and  received  a  warm  welcome  from  Mrs.  Living- 
ston, who  had  come  down  the  day  before  to  make 


140  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

preparations  for  them.  They  only  had  sufficient 
time  to  make  a  hasty  toilet,  before  they  were  sum- 
moned to  supper,  and  Easy  Hall  never  entertain- 
ed more  famished  people.  An  hour  or  two  passed 
in  entertainment,  and  then  the  party  started  for  a 
moonlight  ride  home.  It  was  rather  a  mild  evening, 
but  still  cold  enough  to  make  it  necessary  for  them 
to  ride  briskly.  Along  the  uninhabited  places, 
they  sang  merry  songs  ;  but  as  they  neared  home, 
they  grew  more  silent  and  sometimes  one  couple 
sometimes  another  were  the  lagging  ones.  After 
they  passed  the  toll-gate,  a  few  miles  from  home, 
Mr.  Belmont  and   Bessie  fell  back  far  in  the  rear. 

"  Now,  Bessie,"  said  Mr.  Belmont,  "  Wont 
you  finish  what  we  were  talking  about  this  after- 
noon ?  Tell  me  why  you  did  not  attend  the  ball  ?  " 

Very  quietly,  easily,  and  confidingly,  Bessie 
told  it  all  —  all  the  feelings,  longings  and  experi- 
ences of  her  heart,  during  the  past  few  weeks. 

Mr.  Belmont  heard  her  attentively  and  rever- 
ently, and  was  astonished  to  see  how  she  had  out- 
reached  him. 

They  talked  very  earnestly  for  a  long  while 
upon  this  subject,  so  inexpressibly  precious  to  one 
heart ;  finally,  Bessie  turning  round  and  checking 
her  horse  a  little,  said  with  uplifted  hand,  "  0> 
Mr.  Belmont,  if  you  love  me  any,  will  you,  will 
you  not  give  earnest  heed  to  these  things  ?  " 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER  LIFE.  141 

Mr.  Belmont  suddenly  reached  out  and  tightly 
grasped  the  extended  hand,  then  said  intensely 
and  with  deep  meaning,  "  Bessie,  if  I  love  you  ! 
Bessie,  I  will  do  anything  for  you." 

"  Oh !  not  for  me,"  anxiously  returned  she, 
"  no,  no,  not  for  me,  but  for  the  precious  Sa- 
viour's sake." 

Mr.  Belmont  let  drop  her  hand,  and  sadly, 
thoughtfully,  replied,  "Yes,  Bessie,  I  must  for 
Jesus'  sake  only.     God  help  me  !  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AH !  how  one  day  can  entirely  change  the 
course  of  life.  To-day  we  may  be  as  light  as 
the  summer-cloud,  to-morrow  winter's  leaden  sky 
may  settle  heavily  upon  us.  Thus  it  was  with 
Louise  H.,  the  morning  after  the  horse-back  ride. 
When  she  awoke,  it  was  with  a  weight  upon  her 
heart,  no  strength  of  her  own  could  ever  remove. 
It  was  a  dull  November  day  too,  and  as  she 
lifted  her  curtain  and  gazed  out  on  the  leafless 
branches  and  falling  leaves,  her  heart  sank  within 
her,  and  she  sadly  murmured,  "  Ah  !  me,  it  is  no 
use,  I  know  he  only  despises  me.  I  am  not  a 
modest  violet,  no  indeed.  Oh !  I  wish  I  had  never 
met  him."  Then  came  pride,  and  she  hastily 
turned  away  and  impatiently  said,  "  There,  I 
wont  give  him  another  thought ;  how  foolish  in 
me  !  "  but  in  vain  ;  all  that  long  day,  could  the  pa- 
per she  glanced  over,  the  book  she  read,  the  em- 
broidery she  stitched,  speak,  they  would  tell  a 
very  different  tale. 

Her  feelings   were  more  aggravated,  too,  by  a 
short  courtesy  call  on  the  family  by  Mr.  Carleton, 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER  LIFE.  143 

who  was  suddenly  summoned  from  the  city.  His 
manners  were  very  gentlemanly  and  pleasing,  and 
Louise  was,  if  possible,  more  interested  than  be- 
fore. He  had  no  sooner  left,  however,  and  hope 
had  began  to  whisper  to  Louise,  "  who  knows," 
than  a  lady  friend  called,  and  in  the  course  of 
conversation  she  mentioned  Mr.  Carleton,  and 
added,  "  He  is  a  very  superior  man,  and  is  en- 
gaged, I  believe,  to  Miss  C,  of  B. 

After  she  left,  Louise  stopped  in  the  hall,  and 
pressing  her  hand  tightly  against  her  heart  ^azed 
anxiously  up  stairs,  then  towards  the  library,  her 
swelling  heart  getting  fuller  every  moment. 
"  Oh !  where  can  I  go,"  thought  she,  "  where  I 
shall  be  alone,  all  alone.  Why  did  I  ever  see 
him, — -then  suddenly  she  ran  hastily  up  stairs, 
past  her  own  room  where  Georgie  was  sitting, 
past  again  the  rooms  of  the  servants,  till  reaching 
a  dark  closet  she  entered,  and  closing  the  door, 
flung  herself  upon  a  mattress,  and  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears  —  tears  wrung  from  a  mortified  and 
disappointed  heart. 

'Twas  a  light  summer  cloud  which  floated  over 
Bessie  that  day,  and  many  a  little  low  love  song 
she  sans:  to  herself,  while  she  traversed  in  thought 
every  action  and  word  of  the  preceding  day. 
Sometimes  her  eyes  would  sparkle  a  little  bright- 
er, and  the   rising  blood  warm  still   more  the  rosy 


144  THE   HUNTINGDON  S  :    OR, 

cheek,  as  laying  down  her  sewing  for  a  moment, 
she  would  gaze  over  to  a  certain  house  some  dis- 
tance from  hers,  and  murmur,  "  Yes,  he  certainly 
said  so,  and  if  he  didn't  he  acted  so,  any  way.  I 
wonder  if  he  will  go  and  see  Mr.  Leslie."  Mrs. 
Livingston  wondered,  and  even  asked  Bessie, 
"  How  she  could  sit  up  stairs  all  day  alone,"  but 
if  she  could  have  peeped  into  the  happy  maiden's 
heart,  she  wouldn't  have  wondered  any  more. 

That  evening  at  eight  o'clock  Mr.  Belmont  en- 
tered his  pastor's  study.  Nervously  he  awaited 
his  entrance,  but  Mr.  Leslie's  greeting  and  man- 
ner soon  re-assured  him,  and  after  some  general 
conversation,  more  composedly  than  he  thought 
possible,  he  announced  his  errand.  He  told  all, 
his  early  training,  his  religious  impressions,  his 
views,  and  finally  ended  with,  "  I  know  I  ought 
to  be  a  Christian,  and  to  a  certain  extent,  I  feel  it, 
but  I  can't  understand  the  doctrines." 

"  Can't  understand  the  doctrines,"  returned 
Mr.  Leslie,  smilingly,  "  Well,  then,  lay  them  aside, 
we  wont  have  anything  to  do  with  them  at  pres- 
ent." 

"  Lay  them  aside  !  "  responded  Belmont,  with 
evident  surprise,  "  why  I  thought  they  were  the 
very  foundation  of  religion." 

"  Christ  is  the  foundation,"  replied  Mr.  Leslie. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Belmont,  "  but  it  is 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  145 

necessary  to  understand  and  believe  the  doctrinal 
points,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Belmont,"  returned  Mr.  Leslie,  "  you 
are  a  sick  man,  very  sick  ;  you  need  a  Physician, 
and  every  moment  you  delay  applying  to  Him 
you  are  in  great  danger.  But  the  trouble  is,  you 
do  not  know  how  sick  you  are,  and  are  wasting 
precious  time  in  studying  out  what  disease  is  in 
general,  and  how  it  may  be  cured.  Now,  sir,  I 
beg  of  you  to  let  these  matters  alone,  and  take 
your  individual  case  and  attend  to  it.  Appreciate 
first  how  sick  you  are,  and  then  apply  immediate- 
ly to  the  great  Physician  for  help." 

"  And  have  I  nothing  to  do  with  the  doc- 
trines ?  "  still  persisted  Mr.  Belmont. 

"  Did  I  say  anything  about  them  ?  "  replied 
Mr.  Leslie,  pleasantly.  "Just  drop  them,  if  you 
please,  and  let  us  take  a  look  at  yourself.     ISTow  " 

but  here    Mr.    Leslie    was  interrupted    and 

summoned  from  the  room.  He  excused  himself 
from  Mr.  Belmont,  but  begged  him  to  remain  till 
his  return,  as  he  should  be  absent  only  a  few  mo- 
ments. It  was  providential  that  Mr.  Leslie  was 
called  out  just  then,  as  silent  and  alone  Mr.  Bel- 
mont yielded  to  the  rush  of  conviction  which  now 
poured  in  upon  his  mind.  Rapidly  went  thought 
back  into  the  blackened  past,  and  vividly  it  all 
arose  before   him,  his   gentle  mother's  teachings, 


146  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

the  many  warnings  of  friends  he  had  despised, 
his  selfishness,  pride,  deceit,  and  the  evil  influence 
he  had  exerted  upon  others.  Suddenly  with 
these  bitter  recollections  came  another,  which  gave 
a  more  severe  pang  than  any  of  the  previous  ones 
—  the  recalling  of  the  motive  which  had  prompt- 
ed him  to  visit  Mr.  Leslie  that  evening.  "  It  was 
not  for  religion,"  cried  he  to  himself,  from  the 
depths  of  his  anguished  heart.  "  Hypocrite  !  it 
was  because  I  thought  it  would  please  Bessie. 
Oh  !  what  a  sinner  I  am !  I  abhor  myself!  Who 
can  wash  away  all  this  sin  ?  It's  no  use.  I  can't 
be  saved  !  "  and  in  this  despair  Mr.  Leslie  found 
him  on  his  return. 

"  Well,"  said  he  cheerily  as  he  entered,  "  do 
you  feel  your  need  of  the  great  Physician,  yet  ?  " 
that  having  been  the  silent  prayer  which  had  as- 
cended many  times  from  Mr.  Leslie's  anxious 
heart  during  his  absence. 

"Yes,"  replied  Belmont  very  sadly,  "I  think 
I  do,  but  He  won't  cure  me.  I  have  sinned 
against  too  much  light." 

"  Come  now  "  —  replied  Mr.  Leslie  —  "  and  let 
us  reason  together,  saith  the  Lord :  though  your 
sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow  ; 
though  they  be  red  like  crimson,  they  shall  be  as 
wool." 

"  Weil,  if  I  had  been  honest  in  all  this,"  con- 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  147 

tiimecl  Belmont,  "  I  might  hope,  but  I  see  it  has 
been  principally  for  a  selfish  end  of  mine  own, 
that  I  came  here  this  evening." 

"  Christ's  blood  can  atone  for  even  that,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Leslie. 

"  But  I  feel  so  mean,"  rejoined  Belmont  ;  u  now 
if  I  could  only  do  —  but  there,  I  can't  do  any- 
thing." 

"  No,"  returned  Mr.  Leslie,  tenderly,  "  noth- 
ing at  all.  Human  nature  inclines  every  sinner 
to  come  to  Christ,  feeling  a  righteousness  of  his 
own,  feeling  honorable  as  one  might  term  it,  but 
in  such  a  state  we  can  never  find  Christ.  We 
must  see  ourselves,  and  all  our  good  deeds  as 
filthy  rags,  and  casting  them  all  aside,  must  take 
unto  us  Christ's  beautiful  robe  of  righteousness." 

"  But  how  can  I  get  it  ?  "  responded  Belmont. 

"  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  and  thou 
shalt  be  saved." 

"  But  am  I  to  have  it  by  simply  believing  ?  " 

44  Simply  believing." 

"  But  how  shall  I  know  I  get  it  ?  and  how  can 
I  make  myself  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  If  you  believe  in  Him,  can  you  not  believe  in 
His  promises  ?  ' 

"Yes." 


148  THE   HUNTINGDONS  I    OR, 

"  Wellj  then,  He  has  promised,  '  Him  that  Com- 
eth to  me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out.'  '  Those  that 
seek  me  early  shall  find  me.'  '  Ask  and  it  shall 
be  given  you,  seek  and  ye  shall  find,  knock,  and 
it  shall  be  opened  unto  you.'  '  Behold  I  stand 
at  the  door  and  knock  :  If  any  man  hear  my 
voice,  and  open  the  door,  I  will  come  in  to  him, 
and  sup  with  him  and  he  with  me.'  " 

"  Oh  !  what  precious  promises,"  returned  Bel- 
mont. "  Are  they  really  in  the  Bible  ?  Yes,  I 
know  they  are,  I  have  heard  them  many  times. 
I  wish  I  could  get  hold  of  them,  I  want  to  be- 
lieve, but  it  seems  as  though  I  was  not  ready. 
Have  I  nothing  else  to  do,  but  believe  ?  " 

"  If  you  see  and  feel  yourself  a  great  sinner, 
needing  a  great  Saviour,  nothing  else  but  to  re- 
nounce self,  and  consecrate  yourself  to  Him, 
then  throw  yourself  into  his  loving;  arms." 

"  Consecrate  myself  to  Him  ?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Be  willing  to  give  to  him  all  your  powers, 
talents,  influence,  in  fact  all  you  possess  —  to  use 
your  money  and  time  for  His  service.  Heretofore 
you  have  lived  for  yourself  and  your  own  happi- 
ness. If  you  give  yourself  to  Him  you  must  feel 
that  hereafter  '  whether  you  eat  or  drink  or  what- 
soever you  do,  to  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God,  ever 
seeking  His  will,  not  your  own.'  Do  you  think 
you  can  do  this  ?  " 


GLIMPSES     OF  IIOULB  LIFE.  149 

Mr.  Belmont  reflected  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  replied  earnestly,  "  Yes,  I  think  I  can.  It  is 
but  a  very  little  I  have  to  give  to  Him  any  way, 
but  I  give  it  all.  I  desire  to  be  an  earnest,  true, 
whole-souled  Christian,  or  none  at  all." 

"  Well  then,  my  friend,  all  that  you  have  to  do 
is  to  believe  that  Christ  will  accept  you.  He  is 
much  more  willing  to  receive  you,  than  you  are 
anxious  to  go  to  Him." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  " 

"  If  ye  then,  being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good 
gifts  unto  your  children :  how  much  more  shall 
your  heavenly  Father  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to 
them  that  ask  him  ?  " 

"  But  what  a  venture  !  it  seems  like  throwing 
myself  into  darkness." 

"  Venture,  venture,  and  you  will  soon  find 
whether  it  is  darkness  or  not." 

Mr.  Belmont  paused  awhile,  then  turning  round 
he  took  up  his  hat,  and  rising,  said, 

"  Well,  Mr.  Leslie,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you  for  this  conversation,  and  will  try  to  cast  my- 
self on  Christ." 

"  When  ?  "  returned  Mr.  Leslie,  still  retaining 
his  seat. 

"  O,  soon,"  replied  Mr.  Belmont,  "  as  soon  as  I 
have  an  opportunity." 

"  But  you  have  it  now,"  continued  Mr.  Leslie. 


150  THE    HUNTIXGDONS  :  OK, 

"  But  I  want  more  time,"  responded  Mr.  Bel* 
mont. 

"  Tims  for  what  ?  " 

"  To  prepare  myself." 

"  ~Now  is  the  accepted  time,  now  the  day  of  sal- 
vation; "  be  seated,  if  you  please,  and  let  me  re- 
peat some  verses  to  you  before  you  leave  ;  and,  in 
a  low,  touching  tone,  his  eyes  lifted  prayerfully 
upward,  Mr.  Leslie  recited  these  simple  but  beau- 
tiful lines: 

"  Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea, 
But  that  thy  blood  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  thou  bidd'st  me  come  to  thee, 
O,  Lamb  of  God,  1  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  and  waiting  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  dark  blot, 
To  thee,  whose  blood  can  cleanse  each  spot, 
0,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  1  am,  though  tossed  about 
With  many  a  conflict,  many  a  doubt, 
With  fears  within  and  foes  without, 

0,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  poor,  wretched,  blind, 
Sight,  riches,  healing  of  the  mind, 
Yea,  all  I  need,  in  thee  to  find, 

0,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  though  so  depraved, 
So  long  by  Satan's  power  enslaved, 
To  be  by  thee  renewed  and  saved, 

0,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come, 


GLIMPSES  OF. INNER  LIFE.  151 

Just  as  1  am,  thou  wilt  receive, 

"Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve, 

Because  thy  promise  I  believe, 

0,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am  —  thy  love,  unknown, 
Has  broken  every  barrier  down  : 
Now  to  be  thine,  yea,  thine  alone, 

0,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come." 

Mr.  Belmont's  head  was  bowed  ere  Mr.  Leslie 
had  half  finished  them,  and  when  he  concluded, 
amid  tears  and  sobs,  Mr.  Belmont  murmured,  "  O 
pray  for  me  !  " 

"  Can  you  not  pray  for  yourself,  my  friend  ?  " 
returned  Mr.  Leslie. 

A  moment's  pause,  and  then  the  struggle  gave 
way,  and  Mr.  Belmont  knelt  at  his  chair,  and 
with  broken  utterances,  repeated  over  and  over, 

"0,  Lamb  of  God,  I  come." 

Mr.  Leslie  followed  in  earnest,  supplicating 
prayer.  He  closed,  and  when  they  arose,  they  were 
one  in  the  Lord. 

As  Mr.  Belmont  was  passing  out  of  the  house 
he  encountered  Edward  Huntingdon  on  the 
steps. 

"  You  here,"  exclaimed  Edward,  in  a  hurried, 
excited  voice,  "  Oh  !  for  mercy's  sake  ring  that 
bell  and  call  for  Mr.  Leslie  !  We've  heard  from 
father  this  evening,  and  mother — Oh  !  mother,"  he 


152  THE    HU3TINGD0XS  :    OK, 

said  no  more,  but  convulsively  gasping,  pressed 
one  hand  against  his  throbbing  head,  and  laid  the 
other  upon  his  friend's  shoulder,  then  gaining  a 
little  strength,  he  said,  "  she's  gone  !  " 

"  Gone  !  "  said.  Belmont,  "  Oh  !  Bessie,  what 
will  she  do  ?  Oh  !  Edward,  I  feel  for  you,  my 
friend;  none  but  God  can  support  you  now." 

'* Yes,"  vacantly  returned  Edward,  "Did  you 
ring  that  bell  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Belmont,  and  just  then  the  ser- 
vant appeared. 

The  sad  news  was  soon  told  to  Mr.  Leslie,  for 
heavy  grief  needs  but  f§w  words,  and  in  a  few 
moments  he  joined  them. 

Silent  and  rapid  was  their  walk  to  the  mourning 
home.  As  they  neared  it,  Belmont  wrung  his 
friend's  hand,  and  only  said,  "  When  may  I 
come  ?  " 

"  Any  time  to-morrow  ;  Bessie  will  be  glad  to 
see  you,"  replied  Edward,  and  with  a  farewell 
grasp,  Mr.  Belmont  left  them. 

Oh  !  what  a  stricken  family  did  Mr.  Leslie 
gaze  upon  as  he  entered  Hillside.  Bessie  was 
kneeling  by  the  sofa  fanning  Louise,  her  deathly 
pale  countenance  only  exceeded  by  Louise's,  who 
lay  in  a  swoon.  Georgie  sat  by  her,  bathing  her 
head,  and  every  now  and  then  brushing  away  the 
tears  which  dimmed  her  own  eyes,  while  Margaret, 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  .         100 

seated  on  a  low  ottoman,  swayed  herself  back- 
wards and  forwards,  her  tearless  eyes  fixed  with 
a  vacant  stare  upon  the  carpet.  Mrs.  Livingston 
and  her  brother,  Mr.  John  Huntingdon,  who  was 
present,  were  the  only  calm  ones  in  the  room. 

As  Mr.  Leslie  and  Edward  entered,  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston welcomed  Mr.  Leslie,  and  led  the  way 
immediately  to  the  library. 

•  Edward  passed  directly  to  Bessie,  and  taking 
her  tenderly  up  in  his  arms  conveyed  her  to  the 
sofa. 

"  Louise,"  said  Bessie  anxiously. 

"  Georgie  will  attend  to  her,"  replied  Edward, 
passing  Georgie  the  fan.  "  Xow  lay  your  head 
on  my  shoulder,  pet,  and  he  folded  her  closely  to 
him,  and  took  her  cold  trembling  hands  into  his. 
Glancing  up  he  saw  Margaret." 

"  Maggie,  dear,"  said  he,  "  wont  you  come  sit 
beside  us,  we  want  to  get  very  close  now." 

Margaret  did  not  reply  ;  she  only  heaved  a  long 
drawn  sigh,  and  shook  her  head  mournfully. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Livingston  entered  the  library, 
she  handed  Mr.  Leslie  the  telegraphic  dispatch 
which  had  been  received,  and  said,  "  This  is  all." 
It  was  directed  to  Mr.  John  Huntingdon,  and 
read,  "  Brother,  tell  them  all  that  mother  has 
gone  —  shall  be  home  with   her  body  the  24th." 

"  It  was  very  sudden  at  the  last,  was  it   not  ?  " 


154  THE  HUNTIXGDONS  :  OR, 

said  Mr.  Leslie,  struggling  with  the  coming  emo- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  sadly  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  though 
I  was  prepared  for  it,  I  have  felt  assured  from  the 
first  she  would  never  return.  But  the  children,  it 
has  fallen  so  heavily  on  them.  Oh  !  comfort  them 
if  you  can,"  and  rising  she  led  the  way  back  to  the 
parlor. 

Mr.  Leslie  quietly  recognized  all,  and  then 
opening  a  Bible,  read  the  23d  psalm,  then  follow- 
ed with  prayer.  His  low  comforting  tones  broke 
the  spell  of  Margaret's  bewildering  grief,  and 
bursting  into  sobs  and  tears,  she  dropped  her  head 
into  Mrs.  Livingston's  lap  who  sat  beside  her. 
Mr.  Leslie  stopped  for  a  while,  and  when  she 
ceased  somewhat  he  resumed  his  prayer.  With 
delicate  judgment  he  carried  their  minds  away, 
from  their  grief  to  the  heavier  sorrows  of  the 
crucified  Lamb  of  God,  and  there  was  not  one 
when  he  closed,  save  Louise,  who  still  lay  uncon- 
scious, who  did  not  feel  he  had  wrestled  and  gain- 
ed for  them  divine  strength,  and  support.  He 
left  soon  after,  feeling  that  their  heavily  laden 
hearts  could  bear  no  more,  and  promising  to  visit 
them  again  the  following  day. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  do  something 
more  for  Louise  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  as  Mr. 
Leslie  departed. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNEIl  LIFE.  155 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Edward.  "  She's  had 
two  or  three  of  these  swoons  before  when  she  has 
been  much  excited,  and  the  Doctor  did  n't  do  a 
great  deal  for  her.  She  will  be  better  soon,  I 
think  ;  if  not,  I  will  go  for  him." 

It  was  as  Edward  said  ;  ten  minutes  had  not 
elapsed  when  she  languidly  opened  her  eyes,  and 
just  raising  her  head  a  little,  glanced  wildly 
about. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  she,  shudderingly,  as  recollection 
came,  "  I  know,"  and  dropped  her  head  back 
again. 

Bessie  was  at  her  side  in  a  moment,  and  smooth- 
ing back  her  hair  said,  "  Dear  Louise,  it's  Bes- 
sie," then  laid  her  face  against  hers,  saying  in  low 
tones,  "Precious  sister,  precious  sister,  don't  feel 
so  bad  !  " 

Louise  threw  her  arms  about'  Bessie's  neck  and 
clung  to  her,  with  all  the  helplessness  of  a   child. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  before  the  Hunting- 
don mansion  was  quiet,  and  the  lonely  ones  could 
so  dispose  of  themselves  as  to  be  willing  to  seek 
rest.  How  heavy  sorrow,  especially  death,  brings 
the  most  solitary  together ! 

Oh !  the  awakening  of  the  next  morning ! 
Only  those  know  who  have  awoke  on  such  morn- 
ings ! 

It  was  but  Georgie,  Bessie,  and  Edward,    who 


156  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

sat  down  to  breakfast  together,  for  Mrs.  Living- 
ston was  with  Louise,  who  lay  prostrate  and  un- 
able to  rise.  The  stroke  had  fallen  too  heavily  on 
her  delicate  frame,  and  her  physician  feared  it 
might  seriously  affect  her  for  a  time.  Margaret 
was  also  sick  with  one  of  her  severe  headaches, 
and  at  her  urgent  request  was  unwillingly  left 
alone. 

How  well  it  is  for  us  when  overpowered  with 
grief,  that  we  either  sink  under  it,  the  body's  pain 
thus  for  a  while  hushing  the  heart's,  or  we  are 
called  to  minister  to  those  who  do  thus  suffer,  for- 
getting somewhat  the  true  grief  in  anxiety  for  the 
sick  ones  !  Thus  it  was  with  the  rest  of  the 
Huntingdon  family,  anxiety  for  Margaret,  and 
especially  for  Louise,  shared  their  mourning  for 
the  lost  one. 

Mr.  Leslie  came  as  he  had  promised,  and  a  few 
other  kind  friends,  to  offer  their  services  of  love. 
Finally  Mr.  Belmont  came,  and  when  Bessie 
heard  his  name,  a  sad  smile,  faint  shadow  of  the 
true  one,  passed  over  her  face.  She  stepped  a 
little  quicker  to  meet  him  than  had  been  her  wont 
that  morning,  but  her  quickness  left  her  as  she 
entered  the  room,  and  taking  hold  of  an  arm- 
chair, she  covered  her  face  with  her  hand  and 
gasped,  "  Oh  !  Mr.  Belmont!" 

He  sprang  to  her  side,  and  tenderly  supporting 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  157 

her,  said  with  deep  emotion,  "  Oh  !  Bessie,  you 
must  let  me  comfort  you  now  ;  you  can  hardly 
imagine  how  this  has  affected  me.  I  could  not 
stay  away  longer." 

Bessie  did  not  refuse,  but  allowed  him  to  lead 
her  to  the  sofa,  where  he  listened  long  and  tender- 
ly to  the  meanings  of  her  sorrow-charged  heart. 
In  conversation,  he  casually  mentioned  meeting 
Edward  at  Mr.  Leslie's. 

44  Were  you  there  ?  "  said  Bessie  in  an  interest- 
ed tone. 

44  Yes,"  replied  he,  44 1  went,  but  you  don't 
want  to  hear  about  it  now,  you  have  enough 
on  your  heart." 

She  glanced  up  at  him,  and  saw  too  well  it  was 
no  sorrowing  news  he  had  to  tell. 

44  Yes,  I  do,"  said  she,  44  may  be  the  Lord  has 
sent  me  something  comforting  by  you.  I  think  I 
ought  to  rejoice  with  you,  as  you  have  wept  with 
me." 

44  How  do  you  know  you  are  to  rejoice  ?  "  said  he. 

44 1  feel  it,"  replied  she. 

And  she  did  rejoice  with  him,  and  for  a  time 
her  heart  was  lightened.  But  all  the  weight 
came  crushingly  back  again  when  he  left  her,  and 
she  as  of  old  thought  what  good  news  she  had  to 
write  to  44  mother."  Bending  under  the  weight 
she  sadly  went  up  stairs  to  lovingly  minister  to 
the  sick  ones. 


158  THE     HUNTINGDON'S  :     OR, 

The  24th  came,  a  day  of  cloudless  splendor. 
The  afternoon  of  that  day  the  Huntingdon  family, 
save  Edward  and  Louise,  were  gathered  together 
waiting  the  coming  of  their  father.  Edward  had 
gone  to  the  dej:)0t  in  company  with  Mr.  John 
Huntingdon,  and  Louise,  though  somewhat  re- 
covered, was  still  confined  to  her  room.  Her 
friend  Bell,  was  with  her.  Mr.  Leslie  and  Mr. 
Belmont  were  also  with  the  Huntino-dons. 

o 

Oh !  how  many  prayers  ascended  from  that 
spot  during  those  waiting  hours,  for  each  one  felt 
she  had  nothing  else  with  which  to  strengthen 
herself  for  the  coming  meeting.  Quietly  and  sad- 
ly they  waited,  moment  by  moment,  till  finally 
they,  father,  mother,  brother,  uncle  came  !  but 
Oh !  what  a  coming !  Draw  the  loving  veil  of 
silence  softly  o'er  the  scene. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Mr.  Huntingdon  sat  in 
Louise's  room,  holding  tenderly  her  thin  wasted 
hand,  while  Bessie,  sitting  upon  his  knee,  was  en- 
circled tightly  by  his  protecting  arm.  But  few 
words  were  said,  and  she  whose  remains  lay  si- 
lently below,  was  not  mentioned,  save  once,  when 
Louise  softly  murmured,  "  mother,"  but  her 
father's  gentle  "hush,"  and  sad  smile,  was  the 
only  reply  she  received. 

The  sad  day  of  burial  and  mourning  passed, 
and  the  evening  closed  in  on  a  motherless  family — 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  159 

a  voice  hushed  forever — a  seat  no  more  to  be 
filled  —  a  presence  never  to  be  seen  in  the  earthly 
home,  but  standing  at  the  doorway  of  another 
mansion,  lovingly  waits  to  welcome  one  by  one  the 
children  home,  where  n  mother  "  will  never  leave 
them  more. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  WONDERFUL  calmness  buoyed  up  Mr. 
Huntingdon  during  these  dark  days,  but 
it  was  all  explained  when  the  morning  after  the 
funeral  he  entered  the  dining-room  with  a  large 
Bible  in  his  hand. 

"  Sister,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  you  would  call  the 
servants." 

Not  at  all  surprised,  but  with  a  gratified  smile 
as  though  she  had  expected  it,  Mrs.  Livingston 
arose  and  did  his  bidding. 

The  servants  came  in  wonderingly,  but  seated 
themselves  quietly  and  waited  for  an  explanation. 

"  Our  house,"  said  Mr.  Huntingdon  in  an 
earnest  but  slightly  quivering  tone,  "  must  now  be 
dedicated  to  —  her  God,  and  to  ours,  I  bless  the 
Lord  that  she  taught  me  to  read  this  book,  and  I 
desire  hereafter  to  make  it  the  '  man  of  my  coun- 
sel and  the  guide  of  my  heart,'  and  trust  and 
pray  my  children  and  servants  will  do  the  same. 
I  hope  also  you  will  never  forget  the  last  act  al- 
most of  her  life,  while  she  was  at  home/  was  to 
have  family  prayer.     I  am  glad  to  be  able  to   fol- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE  161 

low  her  example.  I  will  read  a  portion  of  the 
first  chapter  of  the  gospel  of  St.  John,  the  four- 
teenth chapter  of  which  was  the  last  one  I  ever 
read  to  her."  It  was  with  difficulty  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon could  command  himself  sufficiently  to 
read.  He  read  but  a  few  verses,  and  then  kneel- 
ing, repeated  simply  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Blessed 
prayer  !  how  many  have  found  it  a  strong  refuge 
when  first  essaying  to  lift  the  cross  of  public 
prayer. 

No  one  present  however  imagined,  what  a  cross 
this  had  been  to  Mr.  Huntingdon.  They  felt  it 
must  have  been  one,  but  they  little  knew  how 
heavy.  Only  He  who  witnessed  the  deep 
struggles,  and  heard  the  earnest  petitions  for 
strength  the  previous  night,  could  tell. 

It  was  rather  a  quiet,  but  still  very  pleasant 
family  at  breakfast ;  all  waited  for  a  blessing, 
which  followed  from  Mr.  Huntingdon. 

Bessie  could  scarcely  restrain  her  feelings  dur- 
ing the  meal ;  as  soon  as  it  was  finished,  and  her 
father  left  for  the  library,  she  followed  immediate- 
ly after  him,  and  just  opening  the  door  and 
glancing  in,  said,  "  Dear  father,  please  let  me 
come,  just  one  moment." 

"  Gome,"  said  he,  opening  his  arms. 

She  sprang  in'o  them,  and  throwing  both  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  kissed  him  again  and  again, 


162  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

saying,  "  0,  father,  dear  father,  how  we  shall 
love  each  other  now.  How  very  good  God  is  to 
us!" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  her  father,  brushing  away 
a  tear,  and  drawing  back  the  curls  from  the  little 
head  which  now  lay  so  quietly  against  him, 
"  We  cannot  praise  him  too  much." 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  moments  com- 
muning with  their  own  hearts,  then  Bessie  sud- 
denly started  and  said,  "  Pa,  do  you  recollect  the 
last  time  we  were  here  ?  " 

Mr.  Huntingdon  paused  a  moment,  then  re- 
plied, "Yes,  I  recollect,  the  night  before  we 
went  away.  Oh  !  how  cruel  I  was  to  you,  Bes- 
sie, but  even  then  the  Lord  was  speaking  to  ine, 
though  I  would  not  heed  Him,  I  promised  her, 
I  would  strive  to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate,  but 
my  proud  heart  would  n't  yield  till  her  lifeless 
form  laid  before  me.  May  be,  Bessie,  she  was 
with  those  angels  who  rejoiced  when  the  lost  one 
was  found." 

"Oh!  mama,  dear  mama,"  said  Bessie,  if  I 
could  only  have  seen  her  at  the  last ;  it  can't 
seem  to  me  now  she's  really  gone." 

"  It  was  pleasant  to  her,  Bessie,  that  she  died 
away  from  you  all.  She  often  mentioned  how  re- 
joiced she  was  that  ;  the  dear  children  were 
spared  witnessing  her  death.'     She  knew  how  you 


GLIMPSES  OF  IXXEB  LIFE.  ISO 

would  all  suffer,  and  you  know  her  full  loving- 
heart  would  ever  do  much,  to  save  you  un- 
necessary sorrow." 

"  Noble,  precious  mama  !  can  I  ever  be  like 
her,  papa  ?  " 

"  With  God's  help,  Bessie." 

Thus  they  sat  and  talked  about  her  a  long 
time,  till  finally  the  day's  duties  obliged  them  to 
separate.  A  new  cord  had  been  woven  during 
that  interview  to  bind  their  hearts  together  —  the 
golden  cord  of  Christian  love  which  no  power 
on  earth  can  sever. 

That  morning  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Livingston  could 
find  an  opportunity,  she  hastened  to  her  room, 
and  fastening  her  door,  seated  herself  and  drew 
towards  her,  her  writing-desk,  then,  with  trembling 
hands,  took  out  the  little  package  Mrs.  Hunting- 
don had  given  her  just  before  her  departure. 
She  opened  it  with  a  beating  heart,  and  found  a 
small  manuscript,  a  letter  directed  to  herself  and 
another  one  to  •  "  My  husband  and  children." 
Opening  her  own,  the  loved  familiar  writing 
stirred  up  the  fountains  of  her  heart,  and  she 
bowed  her  head  in  tears.  As  she  became  tran- 
quil, she  opened  it  again  and  read, 

"  My  Dear  Sister  Lizzie, 

"  When  your  eyes  rest  upon  this,  I  shall  be  sweetly 
asleep  —  asleep  in  Jesus  ;  then  don't  mourn  for  me,  but  re- 
jjice  with  '  exceeding  joy.' 


164  THE   HUNTING  DONS  :    OR, 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  Lizzie  what  I  have  so  often  inti/nated 
to  you,  that  1  shall  be  a  jewel  in  your  crown,  for  it  was  your 
loving  example  which  led  me  to  Christ.  I  shall  always  feel 
to  thank  you,  next  to  my  Saviour  for  my  salvation,  and  I 
pray  the  Lord  that  you  may  be  the  means  of  winning  many 
unto  Him. 

"  Lizzie,  unto  your  earthly  care  I  commit  my  children. 
Will  you  not  care  for  ray  lambs  ?  I  know  I  am  asking  much 
of  you,  but  I  know  too,  your  whole  life  is  consecrated  to 
doing  good,  and  can  you  do  a  nobler  work  then  to  train  them 
for  life  and  immortality  ?  I  feel  you  are  better  fitted  for  the 
task,  than  even  their  poor  mother,  and  she  gives  them  to 
you,'  nothing  doubting,  that  when  orphans,  your  arms  will 
be  thrown  with  a  mother's  love  about  them. 

"  You  will  see  I  have  left  a  letter  to  my  husband  and  chil- 
dren, and  also  my  religious  experience.  I  have  copied  from 
my  journals  those  passages  which  I  felt  would  be  of  most 
benefit  to  them,  and  have  destroyed  the  rest  as  there  is  much 
I  should  not  wish  to  have  them  read.  Give  them  to  Morti- 
mer. Oh  !  I  feel  too  well,  the  preparing  of  this  is  my  last 
work  for  them. 

"  I  can  write  no  more  ;  the  writing  of  these  from  day  to 
day  has  wearied  me  much. 

"  Good  bye,  sister,  till  we  meet  again.  I  shall  be  waiting 
for  you.  Yours,  in  Christ, 

Margaret  E.  Huntingdon  .» 

"Many,  many  times  was  this  little  note  perused ; 
finally,  with  trembling  loving  hands  it  was  laid 
quietly  away.  It  was  taken  out  again  at  night, 
and,  with  the  other  letter  and  manuscript,  was 
placed  upon  Mr.  Huntingdon's  table  in  the  libra- 
ry.    He  saw  them  as  he  entered   early  in  the  eve- 


GLIMPSI.S  OF  INNER  LIFE.  165 

ning,  and  the  clock  struck  twelve  ere  lie  laid  them 
aside.  Then  opening  a  drawer  in  his  secretary, 
he  tenderly  placed  them  on  another  little  package, 
containing  her  picture  and  a  lock  of  her  hair, 

The  next  morning  he  called  Mrs.  Livingston 
into  the  library,  and  said,  "  I  found  them  just 
where  you  placed  them.  Here  is  your  precious 
note,  and  may  I  not  trust  your  heart  responds  to 
Maggie's  dying  wish  ?  " 

"  I  accept  it,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston  ;  "  by-and- 
by,  I  will  talk  further  with  you  about  it." 

'•'  Just  so,"  returned  Mr.  Huntingdon,  rt  we 
can't  talk  about  such  matters  now.     Maggie's  let- 

Co 

ter  and  the  manuscript  I  have  laid  aside  till  Lou- 
ise is  better,  and  the  children  all  feel  stronger. 
It's  too  soon,  just  now." 

Mrs.  Livingston  acquiesced,  and  a  month  passed 
before  the  package  was  again  opened.  Then  Mr. 
Huntingdon  gave  it  to  Edward  in  the  presence  of 
the  rest,  saying,  "  There  is  your  mother's  last, 
best  gift,  a  letter  to  us  all,  and  her  religious  expe- 
rience, which  she  left  in  your  aunt's  care,  to  be 
o-iven  to  us  in  case  she  did  not  return.  God 
grant  it  may  be  the  means  of  the  salvation  of  our 
whole  household." 

"I  will  read  them  as  quickly  as  possible ,"  re- 
plied Edward,  seeing  the  expression  of  desire  of 
possession  upon  each  face,  "  but  afterwards  I  shall 
want  to  copy  them  for  myself." 


166  THE    HUNTIXGDOXS  :    OE, 

"So  shall  I,"  said  Margaret. 

"  And  V  said  Bessie. 

"  And  I  must  hare  one  too,"   continued  Louise. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  say  the  same,"  said  Mrs. 
Livingston. 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  them  for  three  or  four 
days,"  returned  Mr.  Huntingdon,  "  and  then  you 
shall  all  have  a  copy." 

"  How  ?  "  inquired  Bessie. 

"  O,  trust  them  with  me,  and  you  shall  see." 

Edward  cheerfully   yielded  them  to   his  father. 

The  next  Sabbath  morning  Mr.  Huntingdon 
called  them  all,  servants  included,  into  the  parlor, 
and  presented  each  one  with  a  little  book,  entitled 
"  Mother's  Last  Gift." 

It  was  very  pretty  and  neatly  bound,  and  was 
received  with   great  surprise,  as  well  as  pleasure. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  retain  the  original,"  said  Mr. 
Huntingdon,  "  by-and-by  it  may  belong  to  one  of 

you." 

"  Oh  !  papa,"  chided  Bessie. 

"  Why,  father  !  "  said  Edward,  "  who  has  such 
a  right  to  them  as  vou  have  ?  " 

Mr.  Huntingdon  retained  the  originals,  and  soon 
after,  again  laid  them  away  in  the  little  drawer. 

Perhaps  no  one  took  the  little  gift  with  more 
interest  than  Margaret,  and  seeking  the  quiet  of 
her  own  room  as  soon  as  possible,  she  opened  its 
pages  with  anxious  throbbing  heart,  and  read. 


GLIMPSES  OF   INS.ER  LI1  E.  167 

Sabbath  Morning. 
"  Mr  Devoted  Husband,  and  Loving  Children, 

';  Ah  !  you  little  know  with  what  a  trembling  hand  I  com- 
mence this  last  letter,  it  may  be,  to  ycu.  I  have  seen  you  all 
this  morning,  and  marked  your  pleas-ant  smiles  and  loving 
words,  to  your  poor,  feeble  mother,  who  fain  would  have 
gone  with  you  to  the  House  of  God.  I  know  you  love  me 
tenderly  and  devotedly,  and  you  have  all  of  you,  ever  been 
most  mindful  of  my  every  desire,  save  one,  and  it  is  about 
that  desire  —  which  some  of  you  have  treated  with  indiffer- 
ence, and,  must  I  say  it,  with  scorn  —  I  now  write  to  you. 
You  know,  probably,  what  I  mean,  and  can  recall  many  times 
that  I  have  spoken  to  you  about  it.  I  have  also  prayed  for 
you,  and  with  some  of  you.  I  wish  now  that  I  had  prayed 
with  you  more.  I  hope  yet  I  may  find  strength  to  pray  with 
you  all  together,  husband  and  children,  every  one.  And  now 
I  ask  —  it  may  be  for  the  last  time  —  that  my  God  may  be 
your  God,  my  Saviour  your  Saviour,  and  the  Holy  Ghost, 
my  Comforter,  your  Comforter.  To  find  Him,  you  have  the 
best  of  all  Guides,  the  blessed  Bible.  Oh !  seek  to  make  it 
the  '  man  of  your  counsel  and  the  guide  of  your  heart.' 

"  Some  weeks  since,  I  wrote  off  my  religious  experience,  the 
work  of  Christ  in  my  heart,  and  surely  I  can  leave  you  noth- 
ing of  so  great  worth  as  this.  Has  he  commenced  His  work 
jet  in  your  hearts ?  Oh  !  that  I  could  hear  that  joyful  news 
soon. 

"  And  now,  Farewell ;  God  grant  it  may  not  be  eternal  to 
any  one  of  you,  but  that  in  those  beautiful  mansions  above, 
where  no  inhabitants  will  ever  say,  '  I*m  sick,'  we  may 
meet  again,  an  unbroken  family  circle,  not  one  left  out. 

"  Yours,  in  great  weariness,  but  with  strong  undying  love. 

Mother." 


168  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

WHAT    CHRIST    HATH   DONE   FOR   ME. 

In  my  girlhood,  my  grandmother  Belden  died,  and  hei 
death  was  the  means  of  my  awakening  to  the  realities  of  life 
and  to  my  own  state.  In  the  church,  which  my  mother  at- 
tended, was  a  religious  interest  at  that  time.  I  soon  num- 
bered myself  among  the  religious  inquirers,  visited  my  pas- 
tor for  religious  instruction,  and  thought  I  gave  my  heart  to 
God,  but  what  was  my  sorrow,  when,  after  a  conversation 
with  my  pastor  one  day,  he  told  me  kindly  and  tenderly, 
that  he  feared  I  was  mistaken,  that  I  was  building  on  a  false 
foundation. 

Oh !  how  bitterly  I  wept,  and  how  deeply  I  felt,  cast  out 
alone,  as  it  were,  on  a  desert,  when  this  hope  was  struck 
from  .beneath  me.  I  felt  though  it  must  be  just  as  he  said, 
for  1  had  unbounded  confidence  in  him.  I  was  soon  some- 
what comforted,  however,  by  the  thought,  that  if  my  old 
hope  was  gone,  Christ  was  not,  and  to  Him  again  I  could 
flee. 

Soon  after  this,  reverses  in  our  family  obliged  us  to  re- 
move from  this  place,  and  thus  1  came  under  the  watch  and 
care  of  another  pastor.  After  some  months,  I  again  made  a 
profession  of  religion,  and  united  with  the  church  in  this 
latter  place.  But  a  poor  weak  lamb,  just  brought  into  the 
fold,  I  received  but  very  little  instruction  and  help,  and  the 
influences  which  surrounded  me  were  not  for  my  growth, 
and,  therefore,  I  soon  settled  down  to  the  level  of  the  Chris- 
tians about  me.  Naturally  of  a  confiding  disposition,  I  was 
disposed  to  be  governed  and  to  lean  upon  them.  Did  some 
one  correct,  or  point  out  errors  in  my  conduct,  I  felt  it  must 
be  so,  and  endeavored  to  correct  them,  but  alas  !  how  few, 
how  very  few  were  they,  who  pointed  out  those  defects. 
Not  one  single  person  can  1  remember,  who  spoke  to  me 
about  growth  in  grace.     But  I  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  169 

myself,  as  a  portion  of  a  journal,  I  -wrote  at  that  time,  testi- 
fies.    It  says, 

"  I  long  for  something  continually.  I  think  it  is  excite- 
ment. I  go  away,  and  mix  with  the  world,  but  it  does  not 
satisfy  my  longings.  I  am  the  most  contented  at  home,  try- 
ing to  be  good.  I  think  if  I  should  live  more  devoted  to 
God,  I  should  be  far  happier." 

But  again,  another  change  took  place  in  my  life,  and  I 
was  placed  under  very  different  religious  influences.  In  a 
little  journal,  which  I  used  for  self-examination  at  Commun- 
ion seasons,  I  find  how  it  affected  me. 

"  A  year  ago,  I  was  in  C ,  completely  swallowed  up  in 

myself,  thinking  nor  caring  little  for  others,  engrossed  in  the 
world  and  its  pleasures,  taking  no  real  delight  in  religion, 
and  acting  as  though  I  had  not  taken  the  solemn  vows  of 
God  upon  me,  to  live  for  him  and  His  glory,  but  God  has,  I 
trust,  in  his  providence,  brought  me  to  see  the  wickedness  of 
my  ways,  and  to  desire  to  return  to  Him  again  ;  but  Oh  ! 
when  I  look  back,  all  is  darkness.  I  am  full  of  all  unclean- 
ness,  and  the  future  also  is  dark.  I  know,  by  experience, 
what  a  wicked  heart  mine  is,  and  deceitful  above  all  things. 
If  it  were  not  for  the  promises  of  Christ,  how  could  I  go 
forward  through  the  straight  and  narrow  road  which  leads 
to  eternal  life,  but  I  know,  and  feel,  if  I  place  all  my  trust 
in  Christ,  He  will  sustain  and  uphold  me,  through  all  the 
trials  and  temptations  of  the  coming  year."  Then  I  exam- 
ined my  hope,  my  faith,  my  conduct,  and  made  new  resolu- 
tions. This  was  at  January  Communion  ;  for  March,  I  find 
I  saw  more  sin  in  myself,  in  smaller  acts,  perhaps,  and  for 
May,  I  commence, 

"  Again,  I  have  commenced  to  write,  but  I  tremble  as  I 
do  so.  I  dread  to  write  and  confess  my  sins,  and  make  reso- 
lutions, for  I  commit  so  many  more  sins,  and  break  my  reso- 


170  THE    HUXTIXGDOXS  :    OE, 

lutions  so  many  times,  that  it  is  discouraging.  I  need  severe 
discipline  to  bring  me  low  at  my  Saviour's  feet,  and  keep  me 
there.  I  am  too  wild,  too  gay.  I  long  to  be  holy  and  live  a 
self-denying  life  !  "  Then  follow  more  resolutions,  but  more 
.minute  than  the  preceding  ones,  while  the  11th  says,  "  No 
matter  if  I  break  these  repeatedly  I  will  not  give  them  up, 
but  persevere,  till  they  become  rooted  and  grounded,  so  that 
I  cannot  forget  or  break  them." 

Soon  after,  I  write, 

"Oh,  dear  !  the  faith  of  a  Christian  grows  harder  and 
harder.  I  feel  almost  discouraged.  To-day,  I  am  full  of  hope, 
and  think  I  shall  live  more  as  a  Christian  should,  and  yet, 
ere  to-morrow  comes,  I  am  led  into  some  sin.  How  weak, 
how  utterly  weak  I  am  !  —  I  think  lately  from  the  instruc- 
tions of  my  pastor  Tuesday  evenings,  I  see  my  path  of  duty 
clearer,  and  what  is  required  of  a  true  Christian.  "Would 
that  I  could  do  as  he  has  pointed  out  the  path  to  us.  1  long 
to  feel  a  steady  fixedness  of  purpose,  to  adhere  more  to  my 
principles  and  resolutions,  to  let  nothing  swerve  me  from 
them.  When  shall  I  be  good  and  holy  ?  Oh  !  for  a  humble, 
holy  heart,  delighting  to  do  the  will  of  God  !  Oh  !  for  holi- 
ness, holiness.  .  .  Saviour,  help  me.  '  I  am  poor  and  needy, 
weak  and  wounded,  sick  and  sore,'  helpless,  entirely  helpless. 
Encircle  thy  erring  child  with  arms  of  mercy,  and  keep  her 
from  sinning  so  much,  and  living  such  a  life  of  remorse  for 
committing  sin,  breaking  new  resolutions,  and  worse  than  all 
setting  a  bad  example  of  a  Christian  to  others." 

The  Lord  still  led  me,  and  a  year  and  a  half  after  this,  I 
write, 

"One  whole  year  has  passed  since  last  I  wrote  here 
Pause,  and  think  of  thy  past  life,  oh  !  my  soul.  Deep,  bit- 
ter affliction,  has  been  mine  the  past  year.  Thou  hast  chast- 
ened me,  and  can  I  not  say,  '  Thy  will  be  done,'  and  that,  '  It 
is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted  ?  '     Did  I  not  need 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  171 

it?  DicTst  not  Thou  in  love  administer  the  blow,  and  shall  I 
not  kiss  the  rod  and  profit  by  it  ?  God  forbid  that  I  shall 
rush  heedlessly  on,  and  not  see  His  all-wise  purpose  in  it. 
Was  it  not  to  show  me  how  little  I  really  tried  to  conquer 
my  besetting  sins,  how  much  wrapped  up  I  was  in  the  world, 
and  its  vain  allurements,  how  proud  and  vain  I  am  ?  Yes, 
Oh  !  yes  !  Oh  !  my  heavenly  Father,  do  Thou  dwell  in  my 
heart,  and  by  Thy  holy  Spirit  quicken  me  in  grace  ;  do  not 
forsake  me,  my  God,  but  in  my  wanderings  lead  me  back  to 
Thee,  though  through  the  deepest  waters  of  affliction.  May 
I  be  more  devoted,  more  thoughtful  than  I  have  ever  been. 
May  I  see  life  in  all  its  reality  and  earnestness  of  purpose, 
and  henceforth  live  for  the  glory  and  honor  of  Christ,  and 
feel  that  by  one  unkind  look  or  word,  I  wound  His  cause 
which  it  should  be  my  highest  aim  to  adorn.  Keep  me  from 
falling,  and  finally  receive  me  to  Thyself,  through  the  merits 
of  Him,  who  died  to  save  all,  even  me."    Amen. 

"  Prone  to  wander,  Lord,  I  feel  it, 
Prone  to  leave  the  God  I  love ; 
Here's  my  heart,  Lord,  take  and  seal  it, 
Seal  it  for  thy  courts  above." 

Another  year  and  more  passed,  a  season,  too,  of  new  and 
heavy  crushing  sorrows  !  My  Father  was  indeed  dealing 
with  me,  and  I  wrote  : 

"  I  feel  more  submissive  to  the  will  of  God  in  His  dealings 
with  me.  I  know  I  regard  this  world  in  a  very  different 
light,  and  I  feel  my  afflictions  have  benefitted  me.  though 
I  know,  not  as  much  as  they  ought.  I  feel  a  growing  desire 
to  devote  myself  to  the  service  of  God,  and  to  wean  my  affec- 
tions from  earthly  objects.  I  love  communion  with  God,  and 
prayer  .seems  the  dearest  of  all  privileges  to  me  ;  but  I  still 
feel  I  live  a  poor  unworthy  life,  accomplishing  little  or  noth- 
ing, in  the  service  of  God." 


172  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

Time  passed  on,  and  again  I  wrote  :  "I  think  I  can  truly 
Bay,  'My  God  Thy  will  be  done.'  I  begin  to  feel  that  I 
have  much  for  which  to  live,  that  it  is  -very  sinful  in  me  to 
pine  and  grieve  over  the  past  ;  and  that  I  should  be  up  and 
doing  something  for  my  Lord  and  Saviour.  I  wish  I  could 
feel  more  closely  connected  to  Christ,  but  it  always  seems  to 
me  that  He  is  afar  off,  and  that  He  has  so  many  children  to 
care  for  He  can  scarcely  notice  me  ;  but,  faithless  soul !  do  I 
not  know  that  He  careth  even  for  the  flowers  in  the  field,  and 
will  He  then  not  care  for  me?" 

Again. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  my  heart  must  be  more  depraved  than 
others,  I  have  so  many  trials.  I  scarcely  recover  from  one 
before  I  am  brought  into  another,  but  I  deserve  them  ;  yes,  I 
feel  from  the  depths  of  my  heart  that  every  one  of  them  is 
deserved.  Oh  !  I  need  so  much  humbling,  my  heart  is  so 
proud.  'Tis  nearly  ten  years,  since  I  professed  Christ,  and 
the  Future  looms  up  with  its  ever-recurring  weight  of  cares, 
duties  and  sorrows.  How  am  I  prepared  to  meet  them? 
Relying  upon  mine  own  strength,  I  fear  far  too  much,  it  has 
taken  a  long,  long  while,  for  me  to  learn  how  weak  I  am, 
and  I  do  not  know  even  now  how  extreme  that  weakness  is. 
Oh !  what  would  tempt  me  to  give  up  the  faith  which  I  now 
possess  —  how  could  I  live  to  face  the  ills  of  life —  what  com- 
fort could  I  find  in  the  vain  deceitful  pleasures  of  the  world, 
and  how  could  I  look  to  the  Future  !  " 

On  my  birth-day  I  write,  "  Oh  !  wretched  one  that  I  am, 
who  shall  deliver  me  from  this  body  of  sin!"  how  I  wish  I 
could  avoid  writing  the  events  of  the  past  week.  I  have 
been  tempted  to  destroy  this  journal,  for  it  is  such  a  record  of 
sins,  but  I  know  it  is  best  for  me  to  keep  it,  even  if  it  is  so 
humbling.  I  do  so  thoroughly  loathe  and  hate  myself!  Why, 
why  am  I  so  sinful  ?  It  seems  to  me  every  one  of  my  actions 
is  prompted  by   vanity,  selfishness  and  ambition  ;  even  the 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  173 

Very  best  of  them.  How  is  it  I  never  used  to  compare  my- 
self with  others,  but  lately  I  do  it  a  great  deal,  when  I  wish 
to  excuse  myself  from  the  omission  of  some  duty,  or  the 
commission  of  some  sin.  I  know  it  is  very  wrong,  and  I  al- 
ways try  to  banish  such  thoughts  as  quickly  as  possible,  but 
Oh !  Satan  tempts  me  now,  in  such  entirely  new  ways,  I 
hardly  know  how  to  meet  him." 

"Shall  I  ever  get  this  sinful  body  mortified  and  brought 
under  subjection,  or  will  it  ever  be  as  it  is?  Sometimes,  I 
feel  such  a  love  for  Christ  spread  abroad  in  my  heart,  that  I 
feel  as  though  1  never  could  turn  aside  into  paths  of  wick- 
edness again  ;  but,  alas !  how  soon  do  I  find  out  the  deceitf  ul- 
ness  of  my  heart." 

"  More  and  more,  do  I  think  how  particular  I  must  be  to 
set  a  consistent  example.  I  can  see  that  I  do  exert  an  influ- 
ence, and  I  must  try  and  have  it  an  healthful  one.  As  re- 
gards the  external  duties  of  a  Christian,  I  do  not  begin  to 
find  the  difficulty  that  I  do  with  regard  to  the  internal. 
Perhaps,  if  I  was  left  to  myself,  I  should  not  feel  so, 
though  I  think,  if  I  know  my  own  heart,  I  am  full  as 
desirous  to  perform  my  private  duties  in  a  right  manner, 
as  my  public  ones  :  I  know,  I  think,  much  more  about  them  ; 
still  I  may  be  mistaken." 

"1  hate  to  write  to-night.  For  the  last  fortnight  my 
mind  has  been  greatly  perplexed.  I  earnestly  desire  to  do 
aright ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  go  to  work  in  the  right 
way.  I  try  to  keep  my  room,  and  to  be  indifferent  to  the 
things  around  me,  and  I  am  afraid  by  so  doing,  I  produce  a 
morbid  state  of  mind.  I  get  restless,  unhappy  and  discon- 
tented, and  I  fear  get  excited  religiously,  for  I  know  one  can 
be  excited  upon  religion  as  well  as  any  other  subject." 

When  can  I  get  a  more  even  state  of  mind.  I  certainly  try, 
but  I  do  succeed  so  poorly.  Little  things  of  no  consequence, 
to  which,  my  reason  tells  me  plainly,  it  is  folly  to  give  scarce- 


174  the  hu:ntingdons  :  or, 

ly  a  passing  thought,  I  pass  hours  brooding  over.  I  have 
resolved  now  to  try  running  away  from  thought.  I  know  re- 
flection is  highly  profitable,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  reap 
no  benefit  in  reflecting,  when  I  am  in  such  a  state  of  mind. 
How  much  I  need  counsel  from  some  one  older  and  more  ex- 
perienced than  myself. 

"  I  think  I  see  more  and  more  of  the  duties  of  a  Christian*, 
of  the  trials  and  temptations  incident  to  one,  and  the  holi- 
ness, self  abnegation  and  entire  submission  which  is  re- 
quired. I  begin  to  feel  my  religious  life  has  all  been  wrong, 
though  something,  I  know  not  what,  causes  me  to  cling  to  it, 
feeling  that  I  cannot  say,  my  heart  has  never  been  changed ; 
still  I  do  not  feel  that  I  am  in  the  strait  and  narrow  path  ex- 
actly, which  leads  to  Christ. 

"  But  drops  of  grief  can  ne'er  repay 
The  debt  of  love  I  owe, 
Here,  Lord,  I  give  myself  away, 
'Tis  all  that  I  can  do. " 

"  Would  I  could  subscribe  my  name  to  this  sentiment,  and 
feel  that  I  really  did  do  the  deed.  I  desire  to  do  it,  but  I 
can't  feel  it  would  be,  really  so.  I  am  afraid  I  should  be 
holding  something  back." 

Thus  was  I,  longing  and  hungering  after  the  prize,  which 
was  just  before  me,  but  which  I  failed  to  see. 

Years  passed  on  about  in  the  same  manner,  though  I  had 
new  trials  and  new  cares  ;  still  I  failed  to  see  "  the  Way,  the 
Truth,  and  the  Life,1'  and  to  secure  permanent  peace  —  that 
peace  which  "  passeth  understanding."  It  was  a  constant 
life  of  sinning  and  repenting,  with  a  longing  which  naught 
on  earth  could  satisfy. 

In  the  Spring  of  18 — ,  Mrs.  Morton,  now  I  trust  a  saint  in 
heaven,  placed  in  my  hand  a  work  upon  Christian  life,  and 
never,  never  can  I  forget  the  light  which  came  to  me  through 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  175 

its  pages.  The  Holy  Ghost  came  down  with  power,  and  re- 
vealed my  Saviour  unto  me  in  a  new  way  —  my  keeper  from 
sin  day  by  day,  if  I  would  appropriate  Him  by  faith,  just  as 
He  had  been,  and  was  my  Saviour  from  past  sin.  I  had 
been  trying,  as  one  has  expressed  it,  "  to  subdue  sin  in  myself ; 
to  conquer  my  evil  habits  ;  trusting  in  Jesus,  as  I  thought, 
to  help  me  to  do  it ;"  but  not  expecting  Him  to  do  it  alone 
without  my  assistance.  For  past  sin  day  by  day,  I  saw 
readily,  that  I  had  nothing  to  do,  but  to  cast  myself  upon 
His  atoning  blood ;  but,  Oh  !  I  little  saw  that  for  the  present, 
I  might  rely  upon  Him  in  the  same  manner. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  time  when  this  truth  broke  upon 
my  mind  ;  I  was  perfectly  overcome  with  joy  for  a  season? 
and  going  to  the  room  of  a  friend,  I  told  her  of  my  discovery, 
and  declared,  over  and  over  again,  "  I  have  found  it  1  I  have 
found  it !  "  Yes,  I  had  indejed  found  the  royal  road  for 
Christians. 

*And  now  had  I  discovered  what  it  was  to  take  Christ  into 
the  heart  for  "  wisdom,  and  righteousness,  and  sanctification, 
and  redemption."  Had  any  one,  however,  told  me  previous  to 
this,  that  I  had,  in  a  measure  been  trying  to  work  out  my 
own  righteousness,  I  should  have  been  surprised  at  such  a 
charge,  and  should  have  replied  :  why,  "  Faith  without  works 
is  dead."  I  do  trust  in  Christ  to  help  me,  but  I  must  work, 
as  well  as  trust.  Ah !  I  knew  little  then,  of  that  work 
which  follows  from  faith  alone,  which  results  not  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  but  from  an  impelling  principle  within,  an 
abiding  Christ  Now  it  was  more  faith  and  works,  before  it 
was  to  a  great  degree,  works  and  faith. 

I  should  have  said,  however,  some  months  previous  to  this, 
I  was  enabled  to  yield  my  will  to  the  Lord  :'n  a  matter, 
which  I  felt  I  never  could  relinquish  ;  and  Oh  !  the  sweet 
peace  which  followed  this  act.  By  doing  this,  I  think  now, 
1  was   prepared  for   the  new  way  into  which   my  blesse 


176  THE    HUNTINGDONS  :  OR, 

Master  was  to  lead  me  ;  for  how  can  He  abide  fully  in  a  heart 
which  has  an  idol.  I  did  not  see  that  it  was  an  idol  then,  as 
the  thing  of  itself  was  right.  I  yielded  the  point  because 
there  was  something  ever  whispering  to  me,  that  I  must 
yield  it.  'Twas  the  very  last  best  thing  I  had  to  yield  —  my 
most  precious  desire  on  this  earth. 

Of  course,  it  was  now  easy  to  consecrate  myself  fully  to 
Christ ;  the  deed  was  soon  done,  and  I  waited  for  Him. 

But  though  I  saw  Christ  so  plainly  in  this  new  relation, 
and  was  all  ready  to  receive  Him,  yet  I  could  not  lay  hold 
upon  Him  as  I  desired — could  not  believe.  Ah  !  one  has  well 
said  that  "  believing  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the 
world."  I  wanted  evidence,  too,  that  I  was  believing — was 
trusting.  I  found  it  difficult  to  venture  right  out  on  nothing 
apparent  to  the  earthly  sense  ;  and  I  did  not  venture  at  once, 
but  clinging  to  this  new  revelation  as  I  tried  it,  step  by  step, 
I  found  —  timid  soul  —  upon  what  a  firm  foundation  I  was 
stepping.  I  pressed  forward,  and  finally  felt  assured.  Glory 
to  God  !  I  was  indeed  trusting.  This  state  of  trust  com- 
menced a  golden  era  in  my  existence  which  has  brightened 
more  and  more,  the  more  I  have  seen  and  realized  the 
presence  of  the  Sun  of  righteousness. 

And  now  illumined  by  His  presence,  I  began  to  find  how 
ignorant  and  helpless  I  was.  I  understood  not  Satan's  devices 
and  wiles,  and  often  used  to  get  bewildered  by  duty,  faint  over 
labor,  or  exhausted  with  temptation  ;  but  come  what  would, 
I  would  not  yield  my  trust.  I  held  on,  assured  that  the 
Master  was  leading  me,  and  teaching  me  ;  and  Oh  !  such 
lessons  as  I  learned,  eternity  only  can  reveal.  He  led  me  on, 
and  on  ;  sometimes  on  to  Beulah,  where  I  basked  in  his  love; 
then  right  down  into  the  valley  of  temptation  with  Satan, 
where  He  withdrew  Himself  awhile  :  then  He  revealed  Him- 
self so  lovingly  again,  and  carried  me  into  the  green  pastures 
of  peace  to  rest.     This  life  took  on  to  me  a  wondrous  beauty, 


GLIMPSES    OF  INNER  LIFE.  177 

and  I  began  to  realize  how  much  I  had  for  which  to  live. 
The  simplest  duties  of  life  were  radiated  by  the  thought, 
"I  can  do  this  for  the  Lord."  My  hatred  of  sin  grew  in- 
tense, and  I  felt  keenly  the  approach  of  it.  I  could  not 
now  commit  things  which  before  I  allowed  myself  to  do,  and 
dreaded,  and  tried  to  avoid  the  very  appearance  of  evil. 
Day  by  day,  as  the  Master  found  I  could  bear  it,  did  He 
enlighten  me  upon  holiness  and  sin.  How  did  the  one 
keep  looming  up  higher  and  higher,  broader  and  broader, 
while  the  other  took  depths ,  into  which  I  almost  feared  to  gaze. 

And  the  Bible  and  prayer,  how  exceedingly  precious  they 
became! — the  Bible  seemed  a  new  book,  and  eagerly  did  I 
search  its  pages  ;  ever,  now  and  then,  finding  some  applicable 
and  comforting  truth,  on  ground  over  which  I  had  travelled 
many  times.  Prayer  became  the  season  of  all  seasons  ;•  the 
best,  when  I  co^ld  go  from  the  world  and  be  so  alone  with 
the  precious  Master,  telling  Him  all  my  griefs,  my  cares,  my 
wants. 

But  the  life  I  now  live,  and  have  lived  the  past  few  years, 
is  from  the  Son  of  God.  Christ  liveth  in  me,  and  therefore  it 
is,  that  through  all  the  sorrows  and  temptations  of  life,  there 
is  underneath  the  ripples  of  my  heart  an  ocean  of  peace 
which  passeth  understanding  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  per- 
fect peace,  whose  soul  is  stayed  on  Thee,  "  because  he  trust- 
eth  in  Thee." 

And  now,  my  dear  husband  and  children,  I  have  given  you 
a  faint  outline  of  what  Christ  hath  done  for  me  —  a  faint 
outline  I  call  it,  for  words  would  fail  to  tell  all  the  exceeding 
riches  of  His  love  and  long  suffering  towards  me,  and  the 
precious  lessons  of  faith,  hope  and  charity  He  has  taught 
me.  It  is  all  a  hidden,  wondrous  mystery — this  inner  life— 
and  must  be  experienced,  to  be  known  and  appreciated.  I 
might  sny,  too,  as  it  was  passing,  I  could  not  see  and  un- 
derstand it  as  plainly  as  I  do  now,  looking  back  upon  it. 


178  THE    HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

Do  not  think,  however,  because  it  was  so  long  before  I 
found  Christ  as  my  "  All  in  All,"  that  it  need  be  the  same 
with  you.  Not  at  all  ;  for  I  know  those  who  have  pressed 
directly  forward  from  the  very  beginning,  and  whose  growth 
in  grace  and  likeness  to  Christ  have  been  evident  to  all  ob- 
servers ;  but  1  know  there  are  many  more,  who  seem  to  feel 
that  the  most  important  part  is  done,  when  they  know  their 
sins  forgiven,  and  unite  with  the  church,  and  who  ever  point 
back  to  this  time  as  the  evidence  of  their  being  Christians. 
Many,  1  think,  are  in  ignorance  —  as  I  was  —  of  all  that  it 
is  their  privilege  and  duty  to  attain  unto,  and  follow  rather 
the  teachings  and  example  of  those  about  them  than  the 
directions  of  Holy  Writ. 

And  now,  I  am  well  aware  ,  you  do  not  all  understand,  or 
appreciate  what  I  have  written  ;  but  1  trust  the  time  will 
come,  when  the  Lord  will  use  these  lines  for  an  instrument 
for  your  good. 

Again  I  beseech  of  you,  come  to  Christ  your  Saviour  and 
Keeper ;  come  and  have  His  arms  enfolded  around  you, 
His  grace  to  sustain  you,  and  His  robe  of  righteousness  to 
clothe  you  for  the  mansions  above. 

And  now  will  you  not  grant  me  my  last  request,  to  make 
the  Holy  Bible  your  daily  study  ;  praying  to  Him  to  en- 
lighten you,  who  has  promised  to  guide  you  into  all  truth  ; 
and  may  1  not  hope  that  He  will  eventually  guide  you  into 

Heaven.     Affectionately  your  mother, 

M.  Huntingdon." 

To  no  one,  perhaps,  of  the  Iluntingdons,  did 
these  words  come  with  so  much  power,  and  as 
good  news  to  a  thirsty  soul,  as  to  Margaret.  She 
presse  I  it  again  and  again  to  her  bosom,  while 
with  streaming  eyes,  s  :e  murmured,  "I  see!  I 
see.     Oh  !  mother,    you  little  thought  how  much 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  179 

good  you  were  to  do  me.  I  now  see  why  we 
were  so  different."  Then  followed  an  earnest 
prayer  of  thanksgiving  to  God,  for  the  glorious 
light  which  had  broken  on  her  pathway,  and  an 
earnest  petition  that  He  would  indeed  "  guide  her 
into  all  truth." 

Bessie,  after  finishing  the  book,  passed  to  Mrs. 
Livingston's  room,  and  entering,  said,  "  Aunty, 
am  I  mistaken,  or  deceived.  It  seems  to  me  I  co 
trust  in  Christ,  just  as  mother  did,  and  I  am  all  at 
peace  ;  but  something  says,  it  cannot  be,  it  is  all 
presumption  ;  you  do  not  know  your  own  heart, 
and  you  have  just  begun  a  Christian  life.  By- 
and-by  you  will  get  cold  and  indifferent,  and 
wound  the  precious  cause  of  Christ.  Oh  !  aunty, 
it  need  n't  be  so,  need  it  ?  and  isn't  it  Satan  tempt- 
ing me?  " 

"  I  think  it  is,  darling,"  replied  Mrs.  Living- 
ston, while  drawing  her  closely  towards  her. 
"  You  need  never  grow  cold  and  indifferent  to 
His  love.  You  will  probably  have  many  tempta- 
tions and  sorrows,  and  God  will  perfect  that 
which  concerneth  you,  but  He  will  keep  that 
which  you  have  committed  to  His  charge,  if  you 
ever  cling  closely  to  His  all-keeping  hand." 

"  But  don't  you  think  mama  kept  close  to  Je- 
sus ?  " 

"  No  dear,  not  at  first.  I  fear  she  grew  world- 
ly, and  perhaps  became  indifferent  towards,  if  she 


ISO  1HE    EirK'ilKGDOXS  :    OR, 

did  not  neglect,  prayer  and  her  Bible.  Here  are 
the  places  where  young  Christians  first  lose  their 
hold.  After  they  have  joined  the  Church,  they 
seem  to  feel,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  that  they  are 
safe,  and  Satan  too  often  leads  them  captive. 
Guard  your  prayer  and  Bible  seasons,  with  a  jeal- 
ous watch  ;  allow  nothing  to  interfere  with  them, 
or  to  abate  their  interest.  If  you  do  not  find  a 
growing  love  for  the  Bible,  and  day  by  day,  a 
more  earnest  desire  for  the  precious  '  audience 
time  '  with  the  Master,  do  not  hope  you  are  grow 
ing  in  grace,  you  are  certainly  losing  somewhere.' 

"  O,  I  do  feel  that,"  replied  Bessie.  "  Some- 
times I  can't  wait  till  the  time  comes,  and  so  I  go 
away  before.  I  think,  too,  I  begin  to  know  what 
1  praying  without  ceasing  '  means,  for  I  pray  many 
times  now  during  the  day.  It  seems  to  come  to 
me. 

"Yes,  that  is  it,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  with  a 
beaming  countenance.  "  Commit  thy  way  unto 
the  Lord ;  trust  also  in  Him  ;  and  He  shall  bring 
it  to  pass.  And  now  I  am  going  to  send  you 
away  from  me,  for  it  is  my  prayer  time,  and  I 
wouldn't  be  late  you  know." 

"  Why,  aunty,"  replied  Bessie  in  a  reproach- 
ful tone,  "  why  didn't  I  see  it  was  half-past.  For- 
give me,"  and  with  a  fond  kiss,  Bessie  passed  into 
the  privacy  of  her  own  room,  to  pour  out  her 
grateful  heart  to  Him  -who  was  waiting  to  hear. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER    LIFE.  181 

To  Edward  and  Louise,  their  mother's  journal 
was  just  such  a  mystery  as  she  supposed  it  would 
be.  Louise  sighed,  and  thought  she  never  could 
be  such  a  religious  enthusiast,  and  that  there  was 
no  need  of  it ;  but  she  commenced  to  read  her  Bi- 
ble, and  resolved  she  would  try  and  live  a  better 
life  in  future. 

Edward  wondered  greatly,  how  his  gentle 
mother  could  have  ever  written  such  severe 
things  against  herself,  and  finally  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  her  ill  health  had  probably  rendered 
her  morbidlv  sensitive.  He  then  rather  congratu- 
lated  himself  that  he  was  not  inclined  to  such  feel- 
ings. That  night,  just  as  he  was  retiring,  he  re- 
called her  request  about  the  Bible.  "  I  wish," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  she  had  asked  me  to  do  any- 
thing else  in  the  world ;  I  could  have  done  it ;  but 
to  read  this  "  — ■  taking  up  a  small  Bible  which 
she  had  given  him  — "  is  a  regular  bore." 

As  he  opened  it,  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  last 
chapter  of  Revelations.  He  read  it  through  — 
re-read  it,  then  dropping  the  book  carelessly 
down,  retired  to  rest ;  but  he  did  not  forget  that 
chapter. 

Gcorgie  perused  only  a  few  pages  of  Mrs. 
Huntingdon's  journal,  then  she  closed  the  book, 
and  with  tearful  eyes  laid  it  away,  murmuring, 
*'I  can't  read  it  now :  no,  it  would  crush  me." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

JATE  one  evening,  a  few  days  after  the  events 
_j  referred  to  in  the  last  chapter,  Louise  Hun- 
tingdon was  surprised  by  a  summons  from  her 
father  to  the  library. 

"What  can  it  mean,  at  this  time  of  night  ?  " 
said  she,  questioning  Georgie,  who  stood  looking 
wonderingly  at  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Georgie,  quizzically, 
"  unless  it  is  an  offer  of  marriage." 

"  Don't !  Georgie,"  returned  Louise,  in  an  an- 
noyed tone. 

She  started  out  of  the  room  slowly,  and  evident- 
ly much  bewildered,  at  her  father's  unusual  re- 
quest ;  but  she  was  gone  only  a  moment,  before  she 
returned,  breathless  and  pale.  Holding  her  quick, 
beating  heart  with  one  hand,  she  gasped  oat  to 
Georgie,  "  Oh  !  Georgie,  I  know  what  ho  wish- 
es of  me.  I  do  believe  Davenport  has  sent  in  that 
bill  for  my  dress.  Oh !  dear,  dear,  if  I  hadn't 
been  sick  I  should  have  paid  for  it,  and  pa  would 
never  have  known  about  it  !  What  shall  I  say  to 
him  ?    You  know  how  he  hates  deceit,  and  he  has 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  183 

utterly  forbidden  us  ever  to  make  a  charge  at  any 
store.  I  can't  go  down  to  him ;  I  can't  bear  his 
reproofs !  You  go  for  me,  Georgie.  Where's 
Bessie  ?  perhaps  she  will  go.:' 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Georgie,  laying  her  hand  upon 
Louise's  shoulder,  as  she  was  passing  out  of  the 
room.  "  Don't  get  Bessie  to  go.  Do  be  brave, 
and  crush  down  such  cowardly  feelings.  You 
will  have  to  see  your  father  sooner  or  later  ;  so  go 
down  and  tell  him  how  it  all  happened.  Besides, 
Bessie  don't  know  anything  about  it ;  and  perhaps 
your  father  wont  mention  it,  and  then  she  need 
not  know  it  at  all." 

"  But  I  can't  go  anyway,"  returned  Louise, 
now  in  tears.  "What  shall  I  do?  Dear  me! 
I  am  so  weak,  and  just  this,  has  brought  on  that 
pain  in  my  side  again.  Oh  !  do  you  go  for  me  ! 
Tell  pa,  I'm  sick,  I'm  sure  it  is  the  truth,"  and 
still  weeping,  the  nervous  girl  flung  herself  upon 
the  bed. 

Georgie  went  up  to  her  side,  and  brushing  back 
her  hair,  kissed  her  fondly  and  said,  "Poor  weak 
child !  ycu  are  sick  ;  I  will  go  down  for  you. 
One  of  these  days,  though,  perhaps  you  will  be 
as  brave  and  well  as  I  am." 

"With  a  firm  step,  Georgie  passed  down  to  the 
library  and  knocked. 

"  Come  in,"  returned  a  voice,  the  tone  of  which 


184  THE  HUNTIXGDOXS  :    OR, 

Georgie  eagerly  marked.  It  was  a  little  lower 
than  usual,  and  more  saddened,  so  she  decided  it 
was  just  as  Louise  feared. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you,  Georgie,"  said  Mr.  Hunting- 
don, as  she  entered,  "  I  was  expecting  Louise. 
Be  seated." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Georgie.  "  I  have  only 
come  to  tell  you,  that  Louise  is  sick  to-night,  and 
says  she  can't  come  down.  Can  I  not  do  your 
message  ?  " 

"  Louise  sick !  "  returned  Mr.  Huntingdon, 
somewhat  surprised.  "  Why  she  was  well  enough 
this  e  ening.  and  received  company  in  the  parlor. 
Has  she  retired  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Georgie,  "  though  she 
was  lying  down  when  I  left  her." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  H.,  somewhat  sternly, 
"  Tell  her  I  wish  to  see  her  a  few  moments.  If 
she  is  unable  to  come  down,  I  will  go  up  to  her." 

"  But  couldn't  I  carry  the  message  ?  "  contin- 
ued Georgie. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Huntingdon,  in  such 
a  manner,  that  Georgie  saw  it  was  of  no  use  for 
her  to  say  more,  so  she  left  the  room  immediately, 
and  informed  Louise  of  her  father's  request. 

"  Oh  !  it  must  be  about  that  bill,"  said  she, 
"  or  he  would  have  excused  me.  I  must  go  then, 
there  is  no  help !  " 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  J  85 

Rising,  she  advanced  tremblingly  towards  the 
door,  and  slowly  passed  down  stairs  ;  then  knock- 
ed at  the  library  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  same  voice,  and  Louise 
entered.  She  just  caught  sight  of  a  bit  of  paper 
in  her  father's  hand,  then  she  sank  down  on  a  sofa 
which  stood  near  the  door,  and  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands  she  burst  into  tears,  saying,  u  Oh  ! 
father,  you  've  got  that  bill.  Do  forgive  me  ?  I 
know  you  hate  me,  and  I  hate  myself;  it's  the 
first  time  though,  I  ever  did  such  a  thins*." 

Mr.  Huntington  now  arose,  and  seating  himself 
beside  Louise,  he  took  her  up  from  the  arm  of  tha 
sofa,  and  said  tenderly,  "Louise,  my  erring  child, 
I  do  forgive  you.  Now  try  and  compose  yourself, 
and  we  will  talk  about  it,  for  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  how  it  all  happened." 

As  Louise  felt  the  strong  arms  of  her  father 
about  her,  and  heard  his  gentle  tones,  she  grew 
more  calm,  and  in  a  few  moments  related  truth- 
fully all  the  circumstances  concerning  it. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  been  so  truthful,"  return- 
ed Mr.  Huntingdon,  *  and  that  you  assure  me  this 
h  the  very  first  time  you  have  thus  done  so  entire- 
ly contrary  to  my  wishes.  You  know  how  par- 
ticular I  ever  was  with  Edward  about  this  one 
matter,  and  that  it  is  not  at  all  the  money  I  care 
for,   it  is   the  principle.      I   give   you   all  just  as 


186  THE   HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

much  money  as  I  wish  you  to  spend,  and  I  feel 
you  are  in  a  measure  robbing  me,  when  you  thus 
take  advantage  of  my  credit,  to  contract  a  debt  so 
contrary  to  my  wishes.  I  have  never  liked  any 
way  the  '  trusting  business,'  and  I  shall  never  al- 
low any  of  my  children  to  do  it,  as  long  as  they 
are  under  my  care.  I  hope  Louise,  this  will  be 
the  last  time  it  ever  happens.  I  should  be  very 
unhappy,  if  I  thought  I  had  a  child  that  I  could 


"  Oh  !  father,  father,"  sobbed  Louise,  "  this 
shall  be  the  last  time  I  assure  you  !  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  would  have  done  it  anyway,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Bell  Rivers ;  she  persuaded  me  to  do  it, 
I  did  not  want  to,  at  first." 

"  You  should  have  had  strength  of  character 
enough  of  your  own,  to  have  resisted  whatever 
Miss  Eivers  said,"  responded  Mr.  Huntingdon, 
"  still  I  am  sorry  to  hear  she  has  such  an  influ- 
ence over  you,  and  more  sorry  for  Edward's  sake, 
that  she  possesses  such  principles." 

"  May  be,  pa,  Edward  will  correct  them  in 
her  ;  you  know  she  has  no  mother  to  teach  her 
what  is  right,  and  her  father  lets  her  do  just  as 
she  pleases." 

"  Poor  child  !  she  is  to  be  pitied,"  returned  Mr. 
H.,  u  but  I  cannot  let  her  ruin  my  Louise,  and 
now  I  must  tell   you,  what  I  have  feared  I  should 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  187 

be  obliged  to  for  some  time.  I  do  not  approve  of  a 
number  of  things  I  have  observed  in  Miss  Rivers  ; 
she  lacks  principle,  and  as  you  are  so  greatly  in- 
fluenced by  her,  I  think  you  had  better  drop  her, 
as  an  intimate  friend.  Were  you  of  a  stronger 
mind  I  should  not  advise  this ;  but  you  are  so 
swayed  here  and  there  by  just  the  influence  which 
surrounds  you,  I  wish  that  influence  to  be  good. 
You  can  see  less  of  her  certainl}T,  than  you  have 
done ;  both  your  aunt  and  myself  approve  of 
this." 

"  Does  aunt  Livingston  know  about  this  ?  " 
said  Louise,  anxiously. 

"Yes,"  replied  her  father,  "  I  have  been  talk- 
ing with  her  nearly  all  the  evening  about  this 
matter,  and  you  know  she  is  to  take  the  place  of 
your  mother  now,  and  I  shall  have  no  secrets 
from  her  as  regards  your  welfare.  You  under- 
stand our  wishes  about  Miss  Rivers.  As  Ed- 
ward's friend  she  will  occasionally  visit  here,  and 
you  can  treat  her  as  an  acquaintance,  but  no  more. 
Mrs.  Livingston  will  help  you  manage  this,  so  you 
needn't  give  offence  to  Miss  Rivers." 

"  Oh  !  pa,  this  is  very  hard  ;  she  is  my  dearest 
friend ;  and  she  will  certainly  notice  the  change, 
and  Edward,  too." 

u  Perhaps  they  will,"  replied  her  father,  "  but 
we  cannot  help  it  if  they  do  ;  it  must  be  done  any- 


188  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

way,  and  one  day  you  will  thank  me  for  this,  my 
daughter.  If  Edward  speaks  to  you  about  it, 
refer  him  to  me." 

Mr.  Huntingdon  now  passed  to  the  table,  and 
taking  up  a  paper  placed  it  in  Louise's  hand,  and 
said,  "  There  is  the  amount -;  go  down  to-morrow 
and  settle  the  bill  ;  I  shall  deduct  this,  from  your 
next  allowance/' 

Louise  took  the  money  and  bill  silently,  and 
then  glancing  timidly  up,  said,  u  You  do  forgive 
me,  don't  you." 

"  Certainly,"  said  her  father,  drawing  her  to 
him,  and  kissing  her  forehead,  "  and  now,  go  my 
child  and  ask  forgiveness  of  your  heavenly  Fath- 
er, whom  you  have  offended  more  than  me." 

Louise  passed  out  with  a  lighter  heart  than  she 
entered,  but  still  with  a  new  pain,  for  she  felt  just 
what  her  father  intended  with  regard  to  Miss  Riv- 
ers, and  that  it  must  be  done.  It  was  seldom  Mr. 
Huntingdon  ever  commanded  his  children,  but 
when  he  did,  they  knew  he  was  to  be  obeyed. 
Actively  engaged  in  business,  and  engrossed  with 
his  invalid  wife,  he  had  not  marked  Louise's  con- 
duct during  the  past  few  years.  He  thought  her 
a  little  heedless,  but  he  was  wholly  unprepared 
for  what  Mr?.  Livingston  had  informed  him  of 
her  character,  which  she  had  so  well  read  since 
house  ;    and  it  was    principally 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  189 

from  what  she  had  paid,  that  he  had  forbidden 
her  farther  friendship  with  Miss  Rivers.  It  was 
only  after  much  prayer,  that  Mrs.  Livingston  had 
given  this  advice.  She  pitied  Miss  Rivers,  and 
she  determined  to  do  her  all  the  good  in  her  pow- 
er, but  she  felt  her  first  duty,  was  for  Louise,  and 
she  must  be  removed  from  her  influence  as  far  as 
possible. 

Bell  soon  marked  the  change  in  Louise,  and  so 
did  Edward  ;  therefore,  one  day  he  asked  Louise 
for  an  explanation.  She  referred  him  to  her 
father. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "    said  he. 

"  You  must  a?k  father,"  replied  she,  "  I  cannot 
tell  you,"  and  left  the  room. 

He  passed  directly  to  his  father's  library,  and 
entering  rather  rudely,  asked  in  an  excited  tone, 
"  What  fault  he  had  to  find  with  Miss  Rivers  ?  " 

"  Be  seated,  and  recover  yourself,  sir,  and  I 
will  tell  you,"  said  his  father,  somewhat   sternly. 

Edward  seated  himself,  but  evidently  more  ex- 
cited then  when  he  entered.  His  father  then 
gave  him  his  opinion,  candidly  and  calmly,  re- 
garding Miss  Rivers,  and  his  determination  about 
Louise. 

They  talked  a  long  while,  Mr.  Huntingdon  en- 
deavoring to  reason  with  and  to  counsel  Edward, 
but  all  in  vain.     Finally,  in  the  midst   of  the  con- 


190  THE  HUNTIXGDONS  :    OR, 

versation,  Edward  suddenly  arose,  and  declared  in 
passionate  tones,  "  If  Bell  was  thus  to  be  re- 
garded, she  should  never  enter  the  house  again, 
neither  would  he."  Actuated  by  this  feeling,  he 
quickly  strode  out,  paying  no  heed  to  his  father, 
who  endeavored  to  detain  him.  Mr.  Huntingdon 
immediately  sought  Mrs.  Livingston  for  advice. 
They  hardly  knew  what  to  do,  such  a  proceeding 
was  so  unlike  Edward ;  they  had  expected  some 
opposition,  should  he  notice  Louise's  manner,  but 
not  in  such  a  form  or  degree. 

Edward  had  only  gone  a  few  steps  after  he  left 
his  father's  home,  before  he  encountered  his  friend 
Mr.  Belmont. 

"  What's  your  hurry  ?  "  said  Mr.  Belmont, 
stopping  him. 

"  Hurry  !  hurry  !  "  returned  Edward,  excited- 
ly, hurry  enough.  I  wTish  I  was  dead  !  Go  your 
way  and  I'll  go  mine,"  and  he  endeavored  to 
shake  Belmont  off,  who  had  taken  his  arm. 

But  Belmont  saw  he  was  in  a  very  unhappy 
state  of  mind,  and  would  not  leave  him,  so  passed 
on  with  him,  saying,  '•  My  way  shall  be  yours, 
just  now.  Come,  Ned,  I  have  always  told  you 
my  troubles  ;  won't  you  tell  me  what's  the  matter  ; 
maybe  I  can  help  you." 

"No  you  can't,"  said  Edward,  "  Nobody  can 
help    me.      I'm    a    wretched,    miserable     fellow  I 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  IIFE.        191 

You'd  better  go  and  see  Bessie,  maybe  she'll  tell 
you  —  maybe  she  has  already,  ha,  fellow  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Belmont.  "  Come,  let's 
take  a  stroll  on  the  Park," — which  they  were  just 
passing.  "  It  will  be  more  quiet  there,"  and  Ed- 
ward suffered  Belmont  to  lead  him  into  the  Park. 

Hours  passed  away,  but  still  the  friends  wan- 
dered up  and  down,  Edward  by  degrees  relieving 
his  heavily  charged  heart  of  its  sorrow. 

Kindly  and  tenderly,  his  friend  advised  and 
reasoned  with  him,  that  it  was  not  Bell  his  fami- 
ly disliked,  but  her  conduct ;  that  he  had  often 
himself  been  pained  by  it,  and  that  he  must  not 
forget  his  sister's  good,  in  his  interest  for  another. 
If  Bell  changed — and  if  she  loved  him,  she  cer- 
tainly would  change, — he  well  knew  how  ready 
they  would  be  to  receive  her  to  their  hearts  again. 

"  You  have  been  very  rash,"  continued  he, 
"  but  don't,  I  pray  you,  make  the  matter  worse. 
Go  home,  you  know  how  alarmed  they  must  all 
be ;  and  Edward,  no  matter  how  trying  this  is  to 
you,  it  seems  to  me,  just  now,  you  ought  not  to 
add  an  additional  sorrow." 

Just  here  Belmont  touched  the  right  chord,  and 
Edward  replied  firmly,  but  bitterly,  "  Yes,  for 
mother's  sake,  I  will  go  home  and  endure,  some- 
how, for  a  while,  but  only  for  a  while ;  then  they 
shall  try  endurance  in  return." 


192  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :   OR, 

Belmont  did  not  reprove  this  spirit  of  revenge  ; 
he  well  knew  his  friend,  and  felt  quite  assured  that 
time  would  disipate  it,  in  a  measure  ;  so  he  merely 
said,  "Well,  hadn't  you  better  go  now?  It's 
past  one  o'clock." 

"  As  well  now,  as  any  time,"  replied  Edward, 
and  they  turned  towards  home. 

There  was  not  one  of  the  Huntingdon  family 
that  night,  but  heard  Edward's  entrance,  and 
ascent  to  his  room ;  and  while  they  were  listening 
to  hear  if  he  remained,  they  caught  Bessie's  low 
voice,  and  assured  that  she  would  comfort  him,  if 
anybody  could,  they  hushed  their  anxiety,  and 
soon  found  rest. 

Edward  did  not  appear  at  the  breakfast  table 
the  next  morning,  and  Bessie  informed  them  that 
he  had  gone  to  pass  the  day  with  a  friend,  on 
B 's  Island. 

"  Oh  !  he  appears  so  strangly,"  said  she,  "  I  do 
not  know  when  he  was  ever  so  unkind  to  me  be- 
fore ;  but  he  promised  me  he  would  not  go  away. 
He  says  Bell  shall  not  come  here  again,  and  he 
intends  to  tell  her  all  about  the  matter." 

"  Well,  we  must  hope  for  the  best,"  replied 
Mrs.  Livingston.  "  He  is  in  the  Lord's  hands, 
and  we  can  safely  leave  him  there  ;  can  you  not 
feel  so,  brother  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Huntingdon,  slowly,  "  I 
think  I  feel  so  now." 


GLIMFSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  19S 

Mrs.  Livingston's  satisfied  countenance  told 
how  much  pleasure  this  reply  afforded  her ;  for 
vainly  had  she  endeavored  the  evening  before  to 
persuade  Mr.  Huntingdon  to  seek  rest,  and  leave 
Edward  and  his  affairs  in  the  hands  of  that  One, 
who  cared  more  for  him  than  an  earthly  parent 
possibly  could. 

"  O,  how  little  we  know  what  it  is  to  trust !  " 
continued  Mrs.  L. — "the  most  important  lesson 
of  our  life,  and  the  most  difficult.  And  how  ex- 
ceedingly precious  we  find  it  when  we  begin  to 
comprehend  it  in  somewhat  of  its  fulness  and 
power." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  as  trusting  as  you  are,"  re- 
plied Margaret,  "  Bessie  seems  to  be  more  like 
you,  but  then  it  is  more  natural  for  some  to  be 
more  trusting  than  others." 

"  But,"  said  Louise,  "  what  is  the  use  of  being 
so  trusting,  you  get  so  often  deceived  ?" 

"  Not  in  our  heavenly  Father,  of  whom  we  are 
speaking,  regarding  trust,"  said  Mr.  Huntingdon. 
"  Earthly  friends  may  deceive  us,  He  never  will." 

Louise  made  no  reply,  she  knew  her  father 
meant  no  allusion  to  herself,  and  that  he  only  re- 
plied generally  to  her  remark,  but  nevertheless, 
she  did  personally  apply  it,  and  another  one  at  the 
table  even  more  closely  than  she. 

The  events  of  the  past  few  days  had  fallen  with 


194  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

a  crushing  weight  upon  Miss  Noble's  heart. 
Louise  had  o^ven  her  a  full  account  of  the  inter- 
view  with  her  father,  and  it  was  just  as  much  as 
Miss  Noble  could  do  to  control  herself,  and  appear 
before  Mr.  Huntingdon.  She  could  not  raise  her 
eyes  to  him,  for  she  felt  that  he  would  read  the  very- 
secret  of  her  soul.  Her  anguish  at  times,  was 
intense. 

"  Oh  !  where  shall  I  go  ?"  said  she  to  herself, 
as  she  excitedly  entered  her  rooom,  after  prayers. 
"  I  cannot  stay  here,  I  cannot  bear  it ;  I  have  no 
right  to  be  here,  either ;  I  am  a  worse  example  to 
Louise  than  even  Bell.  I  will  not  stay.  Let  me 
see,"  and  all  day  long,  and  many  days  after,  the 
busy,  active  brain  was  planning. 

For  the  next  month  Edward  Huntingdon  was 
almost  a  stranger  in  his  father's  house.  Mr.  Hun- 
tingdon, Bessie,  Mr.  Belmont,  and  even-  Mrs. 
Livingston,  had  tried  to  conciliate  him,  but  all  in 
vain.  He  grew  more  indifferent  and  morose  as 
each  day  passed,  and  it  was  with  deep  anxiety  and 
pain -that  Mr.  Huntingdon  marked  this  change. 
There  was  not  only  such  a  painful  change  in  his 
conduct,  but  in  his  countenance ;  now  flushed, 
now  exceedingly  pale  and  haggard  ;  they  feared, 
though  they  did  not  dare  to  whisper  it  to  each 
other,  that  terrible  blight,  dissipation.  They  di- 
vined also,  from  what  they  observed  and  heard, 


GLIMPSES  OF  OXER  LIFE.  195 

that  he  suffered   from  other  troubles,  which  wore 
heavily  upon  him. 

One  day  Mr.  Belmont  called,  and  suggested  to 
Mr.  Huntingdon,  to  send  Edward  to  South  Amer- 
ica on  business,  instead  of  one  of  his  clerks,  "  but, 
don't  intimate  to  Edward/'  continued  he,  "  as  you 
value  his  true  interest,  that  I  suggested  this  to 

you." 

Mr.  Huntingdon  discovered  at  once  how  advan- 
tageous this  would  be  for  Edward,  in  his  present 
state  of  mind,  so  immediately  made  the  proposition 
to  him.  He  received  it  indifferently,  but  never- 
theless, his  father  knew  that  it  pleased  him,  and 
in  less  than  two  weeks  after,  he  left  in  the  barque 
Mitchell,  for  Rio  Janeiro. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DURING-  this  time,  Margaret  Huntingdon 
was  passing  through  intense  mental  suffer- 
ing. Her  mother's  religious  experience  had  open- 
ed her  eyes  to  her  own  spiritual  wants  ;  and  eager- 
ly did  she  seek  for  the  same  experience,  though 
tossed  and  torn  with  many  conflicts  and  tempta- 
tions. Her  Bible  became  her  constant  study,  and 
she  sought  instruction  from  all  the  religious  works 
she  could  command,  but  in  vain  ;  her  way  seemed 
to  grow  more  and  more  dark.  Often  there  seemed 
to  come  to  her  a  gentle  voice,  saying,  "  Seek  the 
counsel  of  Mrs.  Livingston,  or  Mr.  Leslie,"  but 
this  she  could  not  do.  Her  pride  rebelled  again  and 
again.  "  No,  indeed,"  she  said,  "  I  never  could 
tell  them  how  I  feel ;  what  would  they  think  of 
me  ?  No,  I  will  keep  my  feelings  all  to  myself; 
the  Bible  is  enough,  that  will  teach  me  ;  I  shall 
come  right  by-and-by  :"  and  Satan  thus  most  ef- 
fectually hindered  her  progress.  She  did  not  see 
the  mountain  Pride  straight  before  her,  which 
she  never  could  get  round  or  over,  and  so  she 
wandered  in  temptation  and  conflict ;  till  at  last, 
one  day,  she  heard  a  faithful  minister  speak  upon 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  197 

"  human  means  ;"  that  though  God  had  the  power 
to  convert  souls  to  Himself,  and  to  lead  them  into 
righteousness  without  any  teachings  of  man,  yet 
He  generally  chose  to  use  human  means,  as  in  the 
case  of  Saul  and  Cornelius,  and  the  eunuch  to 
whom  Phillip  was  sent.  Margaret  now  plainly 
saw  that  it  was  her  duty  to  seek  some  of  the 
Lord's  chosen  ones  for  direction.  The  struggle 
between  duty  and  pride  was  severe  and  lasted 
long  ;  till  finally,  the  proud  heart  broke,  and  Mar- 
garet murmured  in  lowly  penitence,  "  Lord,  to 
whom  shall  I  go  ?  "  The  answer  came  slowly, 
"  To  your  pastor." 

Oh  !  how  tremblingly  she  approached  his  house 
a  few  days  after ;  but  when  she  reached  it,  her 
courage  forsook  her,  and  faint  and  weary,  she  re- 
turned home,  but  only  to  weep  and  lament  that 
she  did  not  take  up  the  cross  and  enter.  Again 
she  started  weaker,  oh  !  much  weaker  in  herself 
than  before,  but  stronger  in  Christ.  Her  con- 
stant prayer  was,  "  Lord  build  thou  me  up.  Ena- 
ble me  to  perform  Thy  will ;"  and  He,  the  ever 
ready,  ever  willing  Strength,  supported  her ;  and 
she  found  herself,  she  hardly  knew  how,  one  even- 
ing, unbosoming  her  long  sealed,  proudly  sealed 
heart,  to  that  one,  of  all  others,  she  felt  should 
never  read  its  records. 

After  some   general  conversation  on  the  object 


]  98  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

of  her  visit,  she  said,  "  Mr.  Leslie,  you  can 
scarcely  imagine  how  bitter  I  have  felt  towards 
you  all  this  time,  and  how  I  have  avoided  you 
whenever  I  could,  for  fear  you  might  mention  the 
subject  to  me  ;  and  I  have  not  only  felt  this  bit- 
terness towards  you,  but  towards  all  who  seem- 
ed to  live  this  holy  and  devoted  life.  I  thought 
they  had  too  good  an  opinion  of  themselves,  that 
it  was  all  self-righteousness." 

"  You  understood  them,  probably,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Leslie,  "  to  speak  of  a  work  that  they  had 
done,  and  were  doing ;  not  a  work  Christ  had 
done,  and  would  continue  to  do." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  continued  Margaret, 
"though  I  thought  I  was  only  zealous  for  the 
cause  of  Christ,  when  I  condemned  them.  Yes, 
I  really  thought,  and  I  rather  feel  it  now,  that 
they  consider  themselves,  and  all  that  they  do, 
perfectly  correct  and  proper ;  that  they  think  they 
cannot  err  in  the  least :  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
it  is  perfect  sacrilege  to  feel  so.  There  is  no  one 
perfect  but  God." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Huntingdon,  there  is  indeed  no  one 
perfect  but  the  immaculate,  almighty,  unapproach- 
able God.  Even  the  angels,  though  perfect  in 
their  sphere,  are  as  nothing  in  comparison  to  this 
glorious  perfection  of  the  Godhead  ;  but  here  let 
me  read  you  a  selection  from  a  favorite  author  of 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  199 

mine."  Rising,  Mr.  Leslie  went  to  his  library, 
and  taking  down  a  book,  slow]y  and  thoughtfully 
read  as  follows  : 

"  The  highest  perfection  which  man  can  attain 
while  the  soul  dwells  in  the  body,  does  not  ex- 
clude ignorance  and  error  and  a  thousand  other 
infirmities.  Now,  from  wrong  judgments,  wrong 
words  and  actions  will  often  necessarily  flow. 
And  in  some  cases  wrong  affections  also  may 
spring  from  the  same  source.  I  may  judge  wrong 
of  you,  I  may  think  more  or  less  highly  of  you 
than  I  ought  to  think.  And  this  mistake  in  my 
judgment,  may  not  only  occasion  something  wrong 
in  my  behavior,  but  it  may  have  a  still  deeper  ef- 
fect ;  it  may  occasion  something  wrong  in  my 
affections.  From  a  wrong  apprehension,  I  may 
love  and  esteem  you  either  more  or  less  than  I 
ought.  Nor  can  I  be  free  from  a  liableness  to 
such  a  mistake,  while  I  remain  in  a  corruptible 
body.  A  thousand  infirmities,  in  consequence  of 
this,  will  attend  my  spirit  till  it  returns  to  God 
who  gave  it.  And  in  numberless  instances  it 
comes  short  of  doing  the  will  of  God  as  Adam 
did  it  in  Paradise.  Hence  the  best  of  men  may 
say  from  the  heart, 

*'  Every  moment,  Lord,  I  need 
The  merit  of  thy  death;" 


200  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :  OB, 

for  innumerable  violations  of  the  Adamic  as  well 
-as  the  angelic  law.  It  is  well,  therefore,  for  us 
that  we  are  not  under  these,  but  under  the  '  Law 
of  Love.'  Love  is  now  'the  fulfilling  of  the  law,' 
which  is  given  to  fallen  man.  This  is  now  with 
respect  to  us  the  '  perfect  law.'  But  even  against 
this,  through  the  present  weakness  of  our  under- 
standing, we  are  continually  liable  to  transgress. 
Therefore,  every  man  living,  needs  the  blood  of 
atonement,  or  he  could  not  stand  before  God. 

"  What  is  then  the  perfection  of  which  man  is 
capable,  while  he  dwells  in  a  corruptible  body. 
It  is  the  complying  with  that  kind  command, 
'  My  son  give  me  thy  heart.'  It  is  the  loving 
the  Lord  his  God  with  all  his  heart,  and  with  all 
his  soul,  and  with  all  his  mind. 

"St.  Paul,  when  writing  to  the  Galatians,  places 
it  in  yet  another  view.  It  is  the  one  undivided 
fruit  of  the  Spirit  which  he  describes  thus.  The 
4  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffer- 
ing, gentleness,  goodness,  fidelity,  (so  the  word 
should  be  translated  here),  meekness,  temperance.' 
What  a  glorious  constellation  of  graces  is  here  !  " 

"  Do  you  understand  it  now  ?  "  said  Mr.  Leslie, 
smilingly. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Margaret.  "  O,  how 
greatly  have  I  misunderstood,  and  misrepresented 
it  too.     But  I  did  it  ignorantly." 


GLIMPSES  OF  IXXEE  LIFE.  201 

"  I  suppose  so,"  replied  Mr.  Leslie.  "  I  know 
many  Christians  now,  who  are  doing  the  same 
thing,  and  they  are  probably  no  more  aware  of 
it,  than  you  were.  And  now,  Miss  Huntingdon, 
to  the  point.  Have  you  consecrated  yourself 
fully  and  unreservedly  to  Christ  ?  When  you 
joined  the  Church,  I  suppose  you  gave  yourself 
to  him  according  to  the  light  you  then  possessed ; 
but  you  now  have  greater  light,  and  see  that  you 
have  more  to  give.  Are  you  willing  to  give  your- 
self— all  that  you  possess,  and  are— entirely  to 
him  ?     Can  you  say  this  ? 

"  Take  my  soul  and  body's  powers; 

Take  my  memory,  mind,  and  will, 
All  my  goods  and  all  my  hours , 

All  I  know  and  all  I  feel ; 
All  I  think,  or  speak,  or  do; 

Take  my  heart — but  make  it  new." 

Margaret  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  she  replied  slowly  and  tearfully,  "  It  seems 
to  me  I  can.  I  think  when  I  was  willing  to  come 
and  see  you  about  this  matter,  I  yielded  the  last 
thing  in  my  way ;  and  oh  !  how  it  crushed  me  to 
do  it.  But,  Mr.  Leslie,  maybe  there  is  something 
I  do  not  know  or  think  about  now,  that  I  ought 
to  consecrate." 

44  We  are  not  required,  Miss  Huntingdon,  to 
consecrate  unknown  things.  Give  what  you  now 
possess,  and  when  new  blessings  or  objects  are 


202  THE    EUNTINGDONS  :    CE, 

given  to  you,  consecrate  them  also.  Keep  all  on 
the  altar,  day  by  day.  Can  you  give  up  all  that 
you  now  knowingly  possess?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Margaret,  "  yes,  I  am  willing  ; 
everything  !  but  oh  !  maybe  God  will  call  upon 
me  to  do  something  that  I  shall  not  be  willing  to 
do.  I  am  afraid  I  can't  keep  in  this  submissive, 
consecrated  way." 

"  Satan  would  like  to  frighten  you,  if  he  could," 
pleasantly  replied  Mr.  Leslie,  "  by  placing  some 
great  mountain  in  your  way,  which  exists  only  in 
your  imagination.  One  thing  is  certain,  God  does 
not  give  grace  for  imaginary  duties  ;  it  is  too 
precious  to  be  wasted  :  and  another  thing,  He  will 
give  you  grace  for  every  trial  he  wishes  you  to 
endure,  and  for  every  duty  He  calls  you  to  per- 
form, if  you  accept  it,  and  thus  will  make  you 
willing  and  ready  to  perform  it.  Oh  !  Miss  Hun- 
tingdon, let  the  future  all  alone.  This  life,  like 
our  earthly  existence,  is  only  a  present  life.  We 
can  live  only  a  moment  at  a  time,  and  you  must 
shut  yourself  up  to  living  by  the  moment.  This 
moment  you  have  the  '  blood  which  cleanseth  from 
all  sin  ;'  this  moment  you  have  His  abiding  pres- 
ence, His  strength,  His  wisdom,  His  righteous- 
ness— if  you  appropriate  it  by  faith.  The  next 
moment  you  have  nothing  to  do  with.  Ah  !  it  is 
sweet,  very  sweet  to  learn  to  be  a  moment  Chris- 
tian ;  then  we  know  and  feel  what  dependence  is  ; 


GLIMPSES  OF   IXXER  LIFE.  203 

what  it  is  to  be  nothing,  Christ  everything  !  Do 
you  think  that  you  can  live  this  way  ?  and  are  you 
not  now  ready  to  believe,  that  Christ  immediately 
enters  your  heart,  the  moment  you  consecrate  it 
all  to  Him?" 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "I  am,  for  He  has 
promised  it,  and  I  do  not  dare  to  disbelieve  Him." 

"Unto  you,  therefore,  which  believe,  He  is 
precious,"  replied  Mr.  Leslie. 

Margaret  bowed  her  head  on  her  hand  a  few 
moments,  and  then  raising  it,  a  holy  smile  radiating 
her  face,  she  sweetly,  mildly  said,  "  Is  this  all  ? 
Oh  !  how  sweet,  how  pure  I  feel.  Christ  is  in 
my  heart,  I  know.  But  oh !  will  He,  will  He 
keep  —  yes!"  and  again  the  smile  came  more 
beautiful  than  before.  "  Yes,  He  will  keep  me, 
for  He  has  all  power.  If  He  can  keep  me  one 
moment,  He  can  another  ;  and  oh  !  I've  only  one 
moment  to  live  at  a  time.  Blessed  Jesus,  blessed 
Jesus,  my  Saviour,  my  all !  " 

Softly  and  tenderly  Mr.  Leslie  now  sang  : 

"  Complete  in  thee,  no  work  of  mine 
May  take,  dear  Lord,  the  place  of  thine, 
Thy  blood  has  pardon  bought  for  me, 
And  I  am  now  complete  in  thee. 

"  Complete  in  thee — each  want  supplied, 
And  no  good  thing  to  me  denied  ; 
Since  thou  my  portion,  Lord,  will  be, 
I  ask  no  more — complete  in  thee. 


204  THE  huxtixgdoxs  :    OR, 

"  Complete  in  thee,  forever  blest, 
Of  all  thy  fulness,  Lord,  possessed, 
Thy  praise  throughout  eternity — 
Thy  love  I'll  sing,  complete  in  thee." 

And  now  beo;an  Margaret's  real  life.  At  first 
Satan  took  advantage  of  her  naturally  strict  sense 
of  right  and  wrong,  and  uro;ed  her  into  an  over-scru- 
pulousness  of  conscience.  But  the  Lord  showed 
her*  the  error,  and  day  by  day,  she  grew  more 
charitable,  and  unwilling  to  judge  others  ;  so  all 
took  knowledge  that  she  had  been  with  Jesus. 
Then,  too,  she  sought  for  a  time  to  make  her  expe- 
rience agree  with  others,  and  felt  discouraged  when 
it  did  not ;  but  again  the  Lord  came  to  her  relief, 
and  assured  her  that  He  was  leading  her  through  a 
different  path  from  those  about  her  ;  and  then  she 
felt  content  to  have  an  experience  of  her  own. 
Then,  her  naturally  severe  manner  of  speaking, 
caused  her  great  sorrow.  She  saw  how  much  it 
hindered  her  usefulness,  but  "  grace  will  conquer 
it,"  said  she ;  and  expectant  she  prayed  and  wait- 
ed, and  gradually  she  saw  it  vanishing  away,  melt- 
ed down  by  Divine  love. 

"  Oh,"  said  she  to  a  friend  whom  she  was  en- 
deavoring to  lead  into  the  true  Christian  life,  and 
who  spoke  of  some  who  professed  it,  as  not  living 
up  to  it ;  who  at  home  were  a  trial  and  grief  to 
their  families — "  My  friend,   I   fear   they  do  not 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE  205 

possess  it.  If  they  do  not  evince  the  in-dwelling 
Christ  at  home,  radiating  all  their  actions  and 
words,  how  can  he  be  in  their  hearts  ?  They  must 
be  mistaken.  True,  they  may  be,  and  often  are, 
misjudged  by  those  who  are  prejudiced,  and  know 
not  the  influence  which  controls  them  ;  yet  as  a 
general  thing,  the  '  inner  life  '  hid  in  Christ  must 
tell  upon  all  around.  If  you  hear  them  called 
6  fanatics,'  '  enthusiastic  '  or  '  self-righteous,'  don't 
wonder,  for  the  4  offence  of  the  cross  '  has  not  yet 
ceased  ;  but  if  they  are  spoken  of  by  those  who  are 
charitable  and  discriminating,  as  being  discontent- 
ed, selfish,  neglectful,  censorious  and  unkind,  O, 
these  are  not  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit.  They  de- 
serve just  censure." 

Margaret  could  well  say  this,  for  she  knew  her 
Christian  life  now  corresponded  with  her  words, 
though  she  saw  much — and  every  attainment  only 
discovered  more — which  she  longed  to  attain  unto. 

She  especially  sought  to  abound  richly  in  that 
love  which  "  suffereth  lono;  and  is  kind,  envieth 
not,  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not 
behave  itself  unseemly,  seeketh  not  her  own,  is 
not  easily  provoked,  thinketh  no  evil,  rejoiceth  not 
in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth,  beareth  all 
things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  en- 
dureth  all  things,  and  which  never  faileth." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

f  i^HE  winter  passed  very  quietly  with  the 
1  Huntingclons.  One  Sabbath  however,  there 
was,  for  memory  ever  to  look  back  upon  with  in- 
creasing delight ;  the  day  when  Mr.  Huntington, 
Mr.  Belmont  and  Bessie  consecrated  themselves 
publicly  to  the  cause  of  Christ.  Margaret  also  re- 
newed her  vows  that  day,  being  received  by  letter  ; 
and  it  was  indeed  a  precious  Sabbath  unto  her. 
During  the  winter  she  and  Bessie  found  it  their  most 
delightsome  work,  to  minister  to  the  poor,  the  sor- 
rowing and  the  needy,  and  they  ever  found  Mr. 
Huntingdon  and  Mrs.  Livingston  efficient  helpers 
as  well  as  advisers.  . 

Louise,  debarred  from  her  usual  pleasures,  by 
the  season  of  mourning,  passed  her  time  principal- 
ly in  pernicious-novel  reading,  and  "  castle-build- 
ine."  Che  never  forgot  Mr.  Carleton  ;  and  often 
looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  his  return  in  the 
spring.  She  would  hope,  even  against  hope,  and 
comfort  herself  with  "  Perhaps  he  isn't  engaged," 
"  There's  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the 
lip,"  or  "  who  knows  what  may  happen."     Thus 


GLIMPSES  OF  IXNEE  LIFE.  207 

dreaming  and  sighing,  although  every  member  of 
the  family  tried  to  rouse  her  to  some  exertion — 
something  worthy  of  herself — she  passed  the  time 
away. 

In  early  Spring,  Mr.  Huntingdon  decided  to 
accept  a  proposition  from  Mrs.  Livingston,  which 
she  had  been  urging  during  the  winter,  that  the 
family  should  all  go  to  Easy  Hall,  till  the  next 
winter.  Mr.  Huntingdon  was  especially  affected 
in  his  decision,  by  Louise's  health,  and  was  great- 
ly surprised  when  she  manifested,  not  pleasure, 
but  disappointment,  at  the  arrangement.  Mar- 
garet and  Bessie  were  delighted  at  the  change, 
while  Georgie  evinced  but  little  interest  any  way. 

The  grass  was  just  peeping  above  the  bare 
earth,  and  the  merry  birds  beginning  their  morn- 
ing concerts,  when  the  Huntingdons  went  to  Easy 
Hall.  Days  and  weeks  passed  before  they  were 
domesticated  for  the  summer.  Bessie  could  find 
no  place  so  satisfying  to  her  as  the  attic,  and  so 
begged  her  aunt  to  allow  her  father  to  partition 
her  off  a  little  room  up  there,  which  would  include 
an  east  window  overlooking  the  village  and  sur- 
rounding country — a  great  attraction  for  her. 
It  was  from  that  attic  window,  one  morning, 
while  gazing  upon  the  beautiful  harbor,  and  the 
back  ground  of  their  landscape,  she  saw  for  the  first 
time,  her  "  field  of  labor.''     It  was  early  morning, 


208  THE   HUNTINGDON^  :    OR, 

and  round  many  a  little  cottage  door  in  the  vil- 
lage beneath  her,  she  noticed  groups  of  children, 
some  poorly  clad,  others  better,  but  all  evidently 
belonging  to  the  laboring  class  of  society.  As  she 
gazed  upon  them,  and  watched  their  sports,  her 
heart  warmed,  and  her  imagination  grew  very 
busy,  weaving  a  plan  for  the  coming  summer. 

She  could  hardly  await  the  completion  of 
"  morning  duties,"  which,  at  Easy  Hall,  were  per- 
formed with  that  exactness  and  propriety  which 
left  many  hours  for  work  and  enjoyment,  not  found 
in  those  households  where  any  slight,  but  interest- 
ing matter,  may  be  allowed  to  interfere  for  ten, 
perhaps  for  twenty  minutes,  with  the  general  rou- 
tine of  the  house.  So  Bessie  knew  better  than 
to  mention  her  plan  till  Mrs.  Livingston  returned 
to  her  room  for  the  day. 

Then  she  entered,  eagerly  exclaiming,  "  O, 
aunty  !  I  have  done  nothing  but  cultivate  patience 
all  the  morning  !  It  has  seemed  to  me  as  if  you 
never  would  get  through  '  mothering.'  " 

"  Why,  I  have  not  been  very  long,"  returned 
Mrs.  Livingston,  glancing  at  her  watch,  "  beside, 
it  is  Monday,  you  know,  and  I  always  have  a  lit- 
tle more  to  attend  to.  But  now  what  is  the  mat- 
ter, over  which  you  have  gained  such  an  amount 
of  patience  ? — though  if  it  is  a  long  story,  I  will 
take  my  work — '  a  moment  saved,  is  a  moment 
gained.' " 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  209 

{i  Well,  take  your  work,"  said  Bessie,  "  for  then 
I  shan't  feel  hurried  " — and  while  Mrs.  Livingston 
was  getting  it,  she  continued,  "  This  morning,  as  I 
was  looking  from  my  window,  at  the  '  harbor 
view,'  I  noticed  the  children  of  the  village  out  at 
play,  and  now  I  know,  from  what  you  have  told 
me,  that  I  can  do  good  amongst  them/' — 

Just  here,  Margaret  entered. 

"  O,  you  here  !"  said  she  to  Bessie.  "  Well, 
no  matter ;  you  can  hear  as  well  as  aunt.  I  came 
in,  aunt  Livington,  to  tell  you  of  a  little  project, 
about  which  I  have  been  thinking,  and — " 

"  O,  Margaret !  "  broke  in  Bessie,  "  I  am  just 
telling  one  of  mine  to  aunty,  mayn't  I  finish  it  ? 
I've  been  waiting  so  long." 

"  Can't  you  cultivate  patience,  a  little  longer  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Livingston. 

"  Yes,"  sighingly  replied  Bessie. 

■'  No,"  returned  Margaret,  "  You  were  here 
first,  and  I  interrupted  you ;  so  continue  your  con- 
versation, I  can  wait,  easily." 

Bessio  glanced  up  for  Mrs.  Livingston's  approv- 
al, and  meeting  it,  continued,  "  Well,  Margaret,  I 
was  telling  aunty  about  my  seeing  the  children  of 
the  village  out  at  play,  and  that  I  wanted  to  do 
them  good,  in  some  way,  and  I  thought — " 

Hero  Margaret  interrupted  again  with  a  mer- 
ry laugh,  and  said,  "  Well,  I  declare,  just  what  I 
wanted  to  speak   with  aunt   about.     I  noticed  a 


210  THE   HUNTINGDONS:    OR, 

number  of  children  playing  in  the  streets  yester- 
day afternoon,  and  have  been  thinking  how  I  could 
interest  them  on  the  Sabbath.  There  is  no  service 
in  the  afternoon  at  the church." 

"  Did  you  think  you  would  have  a  Sunday 
school  ?"  said  Bessie. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "Why  ?  " 

"Then  we  are  agreed,"  replied  Bessie,  for  that 
was  exactly  what  I  was  to  propose  to  aunty." 

"  And  exactly  what  I  intended  to  propose  to 
you  both,  this  week,"  returned  Mrs.  Livingston. 

"  How  singular  !"  said  Bessie,  "  that  we  should 
all  be  thinking  of  the  same  tiring." 

"  You  will  often  find  it  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston. "  The  Lord  generally  prepares  all  those 
He  calls  to  perform  special  work  in  His  vineyard." 

After  some  further  conversation  about  how  they 
should  proceed  with  the  school,  they  decided  to 
go  out  two  afternoons  the  coming  week,  in  the 
village,  to  obtain  scholars. 

"  Where  shall  we  hold  the  Sabbath  school  ?  " 
said  Bessie  ;  "  you  haven't  any  room,  aunty,  ex- 
actly right." 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  and  though  I 
might  use  the  dining  room,  yet  I  had  rather  obtain 
a  room  in  the  village,  if  possible." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  might  secure  the  village 
school  house  ?  "  said  Bessie. 

"  I  dou'Dt  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  for 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  211 

some  who  control  it  would  not  consent,  I  think, 
for  a  Sabbath  school  to  be  held  in  it.  We  might 
try,  however." 

The  trial  was  made,  but  they  were  unsuccessful, 
and  also  in  one  or  two  other  places  for  which  they 
applied. 

"  Isn't  there  a  hall  in  this  house  ?  "  said  Mar- 
garet, as  they  passed  one  of  the  village  hotels. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  but  I  hardly 
think  the  proprietor  would  let  it  for  such  a  pur- 
pose. He  is  quite  a  stern  man,  and  I  don't  think 
it  would  be  of  any  use  to  ask  him." 

"  Mayn't  I  try  ?  "  said  Bessie,  glancing  up  at 
the  bar-room  windows. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  there's  no 
harm  in  trying,  but  I  can't  encourage  you  as  to 
your  success." 

"  Well,"  replied  Bessie,  glancing  up  again  more 
assuredly,  "  I  think  I  will  try.  Somehow  I  seem 
to  have  that  faith  I  shall  not  be  denied.  Will  you 
wait  for  me  ?  or  you  can  walk  on ;  I  can  over- 
take you." 

•'  No,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  We  will  go  in 
to  Mrs.  Ireton's," — which  was  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road — "  and  make  a  call,  and  then  you 
can  join  us." 

The  hotel  keeper  had  noticed  from  his  windows, 
the  ladies  conversing  together,  and  glancing  to- 
ward the  house,  so  that  when  he  saw  Bessie  came 


212  THE   HOTTINGDONS  :    OK, 

on  to  the  piazza,  and  heard  her  knock  at  the  bar- 
room door,  he  was  prepared  to  meet  her. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he. 

Bessie  hesitated  at  entering,  but  as  she  heard 
again  "  come  in,"  in  rather  a  louder  and  more 
urgent  voice,  she  opened  the  door,  and  just  stepped 
in. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  she  hastily,  and  nervously, 
too,  "  but  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"Wont  you  be  seated?"  replied  he. 

"No,  thank  you,"  returned  she.  "Would  you 
be  willing  to  let  your  hall  every  Sabbath  after- 
noon, to  Mrs.  Livingston  ?" 

"  What  for?"  responded  he,  gazing  quizzically 
at  her. 

"  For  a  Sabbath  School,"  replied  she.  "  We 
would  pay  you  well  for  it.  There  are  so  many 
poor  children  around  here,  and  they  pass  all 
the  Sabbath  afternoons  playing  in  the  streets,  and 
we  have  been  trying  to  find  a  place,  but  no  one 
will  let  us  one  ;  now,  wont  you  ?  We'll  pay  you 
well." 

"  No  ;  I  can't  let  my  hall  in  any  such  way,"  re- 
plied the  landlord. 

Bessie  gave  him  one  quick,  sad  glance,  and 
only  saying,  "  I  am  very  sorry,"  turned  to  leave 
the  room. 

"  Stop  !  "  said  he ;    "I  said  I  couldn't  let  my 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  213 

hall  any  such  way,  but  you  can  use  it.  I  don't 
want  any  pay." 

Bessie  stood  looking  wonderingly  at  him  for  a 
moment,  then  comprehending  what  he  had  said, 
she  gave  him  one  of  her  own  merry,  winning 
smiles,  and  replied.  "  Why  sir !  you  are  too 
good,  T  didn't  expect  it." 

"  Didn't !  "  replied  he,  "  Well,  you  can  have  it, 
and  welcome,  this  way  ;"  and  turning  round,  the 
stern  landlord  busied  himself  about  some  things 
on  the  bar. 

Bessie  walked  as  decorously  as  possible  across 
the  street,  and  quickly  informed  Mrs.  Livingston 
of  her  success,  who  could  hardly  persuade  her- 
self that  Bessie  was  speaking  the  truth. 

The  calls  upon  the  parents  were  made,  and 
proved  quite  successful ;  for  when  the  Sabbath 
came,  Mrs.  Livingston,  Margaret,  Bessie,  and 
some  friends  of  theirs,  met  eighteen  children, 
boys  and  girls,  in  the  Central  Hall,  which  had 
been  swept,  cleaned  and  arranged,  for  their  com- 
fort and  convenience.  Amongst  the  pupils  were 
two  children  of  the  landlord's,  bright  interesting 
girls.  These  two,  with  three  others,  comprised 
Bessie's  first  Sabbath  School  class. 

Margaret  took  an  older  class  of  misses,  from 
twelve  to  fourteen,  while  Mrs.  Livingston  super- 
intended. 


214  THE    HUNTIXGDONS  :    OR, 

"  How  sweet  it  is  to  work  for  the  Lord,"  said 
Mrs.  Livingston  to  Margaret,  as  they  were  re- 
turning home  from  the  Sabbath  School. 

"  Sweet,"  replied  Margaret  thoughtfully,  "  yes, 
indeed !  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  only 
just  now  begun  to  live.  I  felt  a  little  sad  at  first 
to  leave  my  poor  people  in  the  city,  but  see  how 
soon  the  Lord  has  given  me  again,  souls,  precious 
souls,  for  which  to  labor.  I  find  my  pupils  very 
interesting,  and  I  know  I  shall  love  them.  I  only 
wish  I  could  see  them  oftener  than  on  the  Sab- 
bath." 

"  Ask  the  Lord  and  He  will  give  you  oppor- 
tunities," replied  Mrs.  L. 

Just  here  they  missed  Bessie,  and  looking  back 
perceived  her  coming  across  the  dam,  with  quite 
a  flock  of  children  about  her. 

"  See,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  the  little  shep- 
herdess and  her  lambs.  God  grant  that  she  may 
be  a  faithful  one  unto  them." 

Here  Margaret  heaved  a  little  sigh,  which  did 
not  escape  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  she  said,  u  Why 
do  you  sigh  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wish  I  was  more  like  Bessie  ;  she 
is  so  winning  and  simple,  every  body  loves  her ; 
just  see  how  quickly  she  has  won  the  hearts  of 
those  little  ones." 

"  Bessie    has    a   different   nature    from    yours, 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  215 

Margaret,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  and  as  you 
say,  all  love  her.  She  is  thus  eminently  fitted  to 
do  much  good  in  the  world,  and  in  this  respect, 
God  will  require  more  from  her,  than  from  you. 
But  Margaret,  '  love  begets  love,'  and  though  you 
may  be  longer  winning  the  affections  of  those 
with  whom  you  come  in  contact,  persevere,  you 
will  finally  succeed." 

Bessie  now  joined  them,  and  half  breathlessly 
exclaimed,  "  Well,  I  have  work  enough  now  on 
hand !  We  were  admiring  the  flowers  —  the 
children  and  myself- — as  we  crossed  the  dam,  and 
one  little  bright-eyed  girl  —  Maggie  is  her  name 
—  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  go  up  to  the  hill 
with  them  some  time  to  gather  flowers,  and  so  I 
promised  them  to  go  next  Saturday,  which  is 
their  play-day  ;  so  you  see  I'm  getting  plenty  of 
occupation." 

"  Just  the  best  kind  in  which  you  can  be  em- 
ployed," returned  Mrs.  Livingston. 

But  the  coming  Saturday,  Bessie  was  not  en- 
gaged in  rambling  over  the  hill-side  with  her 
Sabbath  School  children,  but  writing  a  letter,  a 
part  of  which  was  as  follows  : — 

"  A  minister's  wife  !  Why,  Harry,  I  am  the 
last  person  in  the  world,  fitted  for  such  a  position. 
I  never  had  even  the  pleasure  of  being  acquainted 
with  one,  unless  I  except  aunty,  who  held  that  po- 


216  THE   HUNTIXGDOXS  :     OR, 

sition  for  a  year  ;  then  dear  uncle  Livingston  died. 
But  I  never  could  be  such  a  woman  as  she  is,  and 
I  am  sure,  I  should  know  nothing  of  the  duties 
required  of  so  important  a  person  as  a  minister's 
wife.  No,  no,  I  could  not  be  one.  Are  you  quite 
certain  it  is  your  duty  and  calling  to  be  a  minis- 
ter ?  Hasn't  Mr.  Leslie  rather  persuaded  you 
into  it  ?  for  I  know  he  is  extremely  partial  to  you. 
Do  think  this  matter  seriously  over,  and  consider, 
how  unfitted  is  such  an  inexperienced,  simple 
child  as  Bessie  Huntingdon,  to  go  in  and  out  be- 
fore a  people — to  be  a  pattern  unto  them.  No, 
Harry,  my  whole  nature  cries  out  against  it.  I 
do  believe,  if  you  conclude  to  be  a  minister,  it 
will  be  my  duty  to  resign  my  place  to  some  other, 

but  Oh  ! 

"  The  above  may  seem  to  you  written  rather 
lightly,  but  I  assure  you  I  feel  this  deeply,  I 
can't  persuade  myself  it  is  true.  I  do  want  to  be 
an  instrument  of  doing  a  great  deal  of  good  in 
the  world,  but  I  shrink  from  such  a  position.  I 
have  not  told  aunty  about  it  yet,  but  I  shall  to- 
night ;  and  her  opinion,  of  course,  will  influence 
me  a  great  deal.  I  must  acknowledge  that  I 
fear  to  ask   her.     O,  I  hope    she   wont  agree  with 

you." 

Later  that  evening,  Bessie  Huntingdon  was 
seated  in    Mrs.  Livingston's   room,  while   Mrs.  L. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  217 

was  reading  Mr.  Belmont's  letter  to  Bessie,  in 
which  he  informed  her  of  his  determination  to 
study  for  the  ministry. 

Tear  after  tear  trickled  down  Mrs.  Livingston's 
face  as  she  perused  the  letter,  and  once  or  twice 
Bessie  caught  the  ejaculation,  "  Thank  God." 
The  moment  she  finished  reading  it,  before  she 
could  speak,  Bessie  seated  herself  on  a  low  stool 
at  her  feet,  and  burying  her  face  in  Mrs.  L's  lap, 
said,  in  a  trembling,  weeping  voice  : 

"  Oh  !  aunty,  I  know  just  what  you  are  going 
to  say  ;  just  what  I  don't  wish  you  to,  for  I  can't 
be  a  minister's  wife,  to  have  everybody  watch  me 
and  criticise  me  !  If  I  was  fitted  for  one,  why,  it 
would  be  different,  but  I  am  not." 

"  Bessie,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  in  a  grieved 
tone,  "I  am  surprised  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are,"  returned  Bessie,  "you 
have  always  thought  me  so  good ;  but  now 
you  see  just  how  wicked  I  am.  I  have  tried  to 
feel  right  about  this,  but  I  can't ;  it's  not  that  I 
do  not  wish  to  labor  for  my  precious  Master  ;  no, 
indeed ;  I  will  work  in  any  place  but  this ;  I  could 
be  a  teacher  now,  quite  contentedly." 

"  Thy  will  be  done,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston, 
slowly  and  emphatically. 

Bessie  was  silent  a  few  moments,  and  then 
she  raised  up  her  face,  and  smiling  through  her 
tears,  said : 


218  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

"  Is  this  the  Lord's  will  concerning  me  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  see  it  so  ?  "  returned  Mrs.  L. 

"  No,"  replied  Bessie,  "  I  had  not  looked  at  it  as 
His  will  exactly.  I  felt  that  it  was  more  the  will  of 
Mr.  Belmont,  but  I  see  it  now."  Then,  soon  after, 
she  continued  slowly,  though  tearfully,  "  Yes, 
4  His  will  be  done,'  "  and  the  head  was  bowed 
again. 

"  Bessie,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  it  is  well  that 
you  have  learned  thus  early  that  '  it  is  not  in  the 
way  of  man  to  direct  his  steps.'  "VVe  often  pro- 
pose to  ourselves  a  certain  sphere,  where  we  think 
we  are  fitted  to  labor,  and  build  hopes  and  lay 
plans  about  it.  Suddenly  the  hopes  are  laid  low, 
the  plans  defeated,  and  we  find  to  our  regret,  that 
we  are  not  doino;  God's  will  but  our  own,  though 
we  think  we  are  doing  His  will,  because  we  are 
laboring  for  good,  and  that  all  good  must  be  His 
will.  Now  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt,  but 
that  our  heavenly  Father  has  called  both  you  and 
Mr.  Belmont  to  the  spheres  you  have  in  prospect ; 
and  from  what  1  have  judged  of  your  nature,  in- 
stead of  your  being  unfitted,  you  are  eminently 
fitted  for  the  place." 

44  Why,  aunty,  how  can  you  think  so  ?  I,  who 
lean  so  much  upon  my  friends,  to  be  a  leader  and 
exemplar  to  others  !  I,  who  have  no  experience 
or  the  world,  and  know  so  little  what  is  required 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE  219 

of  a  minister's   wife  !     Why,  I  should  n't  know- 
how  to  do  a  single  tiling  !  " 

Mrs.  Livingston  smiled,  and  patting  the  head 
before  her,  replied, 

"  Well !  well !  it  will  be  more  than  three  years 
before  you  will  be  required  to  assume  such  a  posi- 
tion, and  in  the  meantime,  you  can  be  fitting  your- 
self. Shall  I  tell  you  my  feelings  with  regard  to 
a  minister's  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  aunty ;  for  if  I  have  got  to  be  one,  I 
want  to  be  one  of  the  best.  I  have  heard  peo- 
ple find  fault  with  ministers'  wives,  and  I  have 
wondered  if  they  were  to  blame.  Don't  you 
think  more  is  expected  of  them  than  should  be  ?  " 

"  Not  generally,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  for 
what  woman  is  there,  who  holds  such  a  position, 
for  example  and  influence,  as  the  wife  of  an  ear- 
nest, devoted  pastor.  All  the  world  recognizes 
the  importance  of  her  position,  and  they  have  a 
standard  by  which  they  try  her,  as  well  as  their 
pastor ;  and  in  general,  I  do  not  think  this  stand- 
ard too  high.  Every  woman,  therefore,  who  as- 
sumes the  place  of  pastor's  wife,  knows  that  there 
is  this  standard  existing,  and  it  will  ever  remain, 
and  all  she  can  do,  she  cannot  alter  it ;  therefore, 
she  ou^ht  to  recognize  it,  and  endeavor  to  con- 
form  herself  to  it.  It  wont  do  for  her  to  say,  '  I 
married  my  husband,  and  not  his  church.'     This 


220  THE  HUNTHSTGDONS  :   OR, 

may  be  true,  in  one  respect,  but  it  involves  a  false 
feeling  in  it ;  for  the  interests  of  bis  church  and 
himself  are  so  intertwined,  that  to  make  her  hus- 
band a  happy  and  useful  man,  she  must  marry, 
in  a  certain  way  which  she  ought  to  understand, 
his  church  as  well  as  himself. 

"  If  there  is   any  woman  who   should  be  conse- 
crated, soul,  mind  and  body,  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  it 
is   a  minister's  wife.     She  is  not  one  to  be  con- 
formed to  the  world ;  to  '  set  fashions,'  or  even  to 
follow  them   so  closely  as  to    be  marked.     Ah ! 
how   grieved  was  I,  to  hear  a  young  Christian 
once  remark  to   me,  \  Why,  Mrs.  A.,'  referring  to 
her  minister's   wife,  '  is  the  most  fashionable  lady 
that  goes  into  our  church ;  everything   she  has  is 
so  fine  and  nice,  and  she   dresses   with   such  ex- 
quisite taste,  you  cannot  help  noticing  her.     And 
again,   another  young  lady  remarked   to  me,   in 
whom  I  was  endeavoring  to  cultivate  simplicity  of 
dress,  '  Why,  there  is  Mrs.  B. ;  she  is  the  minis-  ■ 
ter's  wife,  and  she  doesn't  dress  simply  at  all.'     I 
was  obliged  to  tell  her,  that  she   must  not  look  to 
ministers'  wives  for  patterns.    Christ  was  our  only 
example. 

"  But  though  this  is  true,  and  we  cannot  and 
ought  not  to  make  patterns  of  ministers'  wives, 
yet  many  will  do  so,  especially  the  weak  lambs  of 
the  flock,  and   therefore,   how  exceedingly  careful 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  221 

should  they  be,  that  they  do  nothing  but  what 
they  are  willing  should  be  copied." 

"  Ah  !  but  aunty,"  said  Bessie,  "  this  is  hard, 
and  who  can  do  it  ?     I  am  sure  I  shall  not." 

"  As  your  day  is,  so  shall  your  strength  be," 
replied  Mrs.  Livingston.  "  God  does  not  place 
us  in  any  position,  but  what  He  will  give  us  suffi- 
cient grace  —  if  we  seek  it  —  for  that  position ; 
therefore,  if  we  fail  the  fault  is  only  in  ourselves. 
Another  reason  why  a  minister's  wife  should  be 
'  consecrated,  soul,  body  and  mind  to  the  Lord,'  is, 
that  slie  has  more  opportunities  than  many  other 
women  to  do  good,  and  people  rather  expect  from 
her,  as  from  the  minister,  words  of  Christian  ad- 
vice and  comfort.  Her  very  position  affords  her  a 
peculiar  power  and  freedom,  and  therefore,  what 
might  be  taken  amiss  from  another,  would  be  con- 
sidered only  perfectly  proper  from  her.  She  can  in- 
troduce about  what  plans  she  desires  amongst  her 
people,  and  the  minister's  wife  '  says  so,'  is  often 
taken  as  a  standard  for  right  or  wrong." 

"  Well,  aunty,"  said  Bessie,  "  I  feel  more  and 
more  how  little  fitted  I  am  for  such  an  one.  You 
yourself  must  feel  it  too." 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  it  so  sensibly,"  replied  Mrs. 
Livingston,  u  for  I  trust  your  very  weakness  will 
enable  you  to  rely  wholly  upon  Him  who  is  your 
strength.    I  should  feel  much  more  alarmed  for  you, 


222  the  huntingdons  :  on, 

if  you  felt  equal  to  the  task,  for  then,  I  should  fear 
you  would  undertake  it  in  your  own  strength, 
which  would  be  perfect  weakness,  and  result  in  an 
utter  failure." 

"  But,  aunty,"  said  Bessie,  after  a  few  moments 
pause,  "  don't  you  think  sometimes,  that  people  of 
a  parish  expect  too  much  work  from  a  minister's 
wife,  visiting  the  sick,  atterding  the  meetings, 
&c." 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  I  agree  with  you  here,  for  we 
have  often  seen  it,  that  when  a  minister's  wife  be- 
gins to  go  in  and  out  amongst  the  church,  it  hap- 
pens, as  with  her  husband  often,  there  are  incessant 
demands  upon  her  time,  and  unkind  feelings  if 
she  does  not  accede  to  every  one  of  those  demands. 
Now,  I  believe  our  kind  Father  has  given  each  one 
of  his  children  just  so  much  labor  in  the  vineyard 
to  perform,  that  we  are  not  to  be  continually  hur- 
ried in  this  world,  and  that  there  is  a  limit  to 
work,  and  I  believe  if  we  make  it  a  subject  of 
prayer,  we  '  shall  be  guided  into  all  truth,'  in  this 
matter.  Here  you,  as  a  pastor's  wife,  would  need 
teaching  from  above,  to  see  just  how  to  use  your 
time  to  the  best  advantage  for  your  own  soul, 
your  family,  and  the  good  of  the  parish.  And 
the  minister's  wife  should  be  frank  with  the  peo- 
ple about  it,  tell  them  how  she  has  arranged  her 
affairs,  and  what  she  can  do  for  them,  and   what 


GLIMPSES  OF  IXXEH  LIFE.  2Z3 

she  can  not.  Nearly  all  the  fault  finding  in  the 
world  arises  from  ignorance,  and  I  have  often 
found  it  the  best  way  to  silence  fault  finders,  to  let 
them  know  as  far*  as  I  thought  proper,  what  I  have 
to  do,  and  ask  them  to  arrange  it  better  for  me. 
Afterwards  I  have  found  them  the  ones  to  say, 
'  you  had  better  know  about  her  affairs,  before 
you  speak,  she  has  many  a  care  of  which  you 
know  nothing.'  A  friend  of  mine  told  me,  that 
at  one  time  she  remarked  to  another  lady,  '  that 
she  was  surprised  her  minister's  wife  hired  so 
much  sewing  done.  She  kept  a  seamstress  the 
whole  time,  and  she  did  not  see  how  her  husband 
could  afford  it,  as  he  received  but  a  small  salary. 
She  said  she  had  totally  forgotten  the  circum- 
stances, until  one  evening,  when  she  was  visiting 
at  the  minister's,  and  they  were  conversing  about 
how  one  could  employ  her  time  the  most  worthily, 
the  minister's  wife  remarked  to  her  with  charm- 
ing frankness, 

'  Some  people  think  that  I  ought  to  sew  more  ; 
but  from  childhood  I  was  very  slow  with  my 
needle  ;  besides,  sitting  at  sewing  a  loner  time  srives 

J  a  ©  ©  © 

me  a  severe  pain  in  my  side,  and  I  have  found 
from  experience,  I  can  do  but  little  of  it,  and  keep 
well.  I  therefore  hire  a  sewing  girl  for  my  family, 
but  I  earn  her  wages  all  myself,  in  one-sixth  the 
time  it  would  take  me  to  do  her  work.' 
1  Ah  !  '  said  my  friend,  '  is  that  so  ?  ' 


224:  THE   HUNTIXGDONS  :    OE, 

6  Yes,'  said  the  minister's  wife.  '  I  write  a  little 
story  now  and  then  for  the  children,  and  the  re- 
ceipts fully  pay  my  servant,  if  not  more  ;  and  then 
I  have  so  much  time  to  visit  my  people,  and  to  do 
for  others,  that  I  can  never  thank  my  Father 
enough  for  the  talent  he  has  given  me." 

My  friend  told  me  that  this  proved  an  excellent 
lesson  to  her.  She  could  never  forget  it,  and 
often  relates  the  story,  when  she  hears  any  one 
uttering  a  rash  judgment." 

Mrs.  Livingston  and  Bessie  sat  some  time  longer 
conversing,  and  when  Bessie  returned  to  her  room 
she  took  out  her  letter  and  commenced  on  another 
page.  "It  is  the  Lord ;  let  Him  do  what  seemeth 
Him  good." 


CHAPTER  xvirr. 

AH,  how  wearily  passed  all  this  time  to 
Louise  Huntingdon.  It  was  in  vain  that 
her  father  and  Mrs.  Livingston  reasoned  with  her, 
and  endeavored  to  rouse  her  to  something  which 
would  benefit  her  health,  and  in  time,  interest  her  ; 
they  could  effect  no  improvement,  and  therefore 
her  health  grew  more  and  more  delicate.  Finally 
her  father  became  quite  alarmed  concerning  her, 
and  at  her  physician's  recommendation,  conclud- 
ed  to  send  her  for   a  while   to  S Springs,  in 

hopes  that  the  water  and  change  might  benefit 
her.  At  first  he  thought  of  sending  her  under 
charge  of  Edward,  whom  he  expected  home  in  a 
few  weeks,  but  just  before  the  time  Louise  had 
arranged  to  leave,  Edward  wrote  that  he  should 
stop  at  Cuba  on  his  way  home,  so  they  need  not 
expect  him  till  Autumn ;  and  now,  as  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon could  not  possibly  leave  himself  on  account 
of  business,  he  concluded  to  send  Louise  with 
Georgie  to  accompany  her,  under  the  care  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marchmont,  intimate  friends  of  the  fam- 


226  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

ily,  who  intended  to  j  ass  some  weeks  at  the 
Springs. 

Even  the  thoughts  of  the  trip  seemed  tc  arouse 
and  strengthen  Louise,  and  she  exerted  herself  more 
to  prepare  for  the  journey,  than  she  had  done  dur- 
ing the  past  six  months.  To  an  attentive  observer, 
Georgie  was,  if  possible,  more  pleased  than  Louise, 
though  she  evidently  tried  to  conceal  her  satisfac- 
tion. Finally  the  last  dress  was  made,  and  the 
last  day  passed,  for  one  at  least,  at  Easy  Hall. 

The  close  of  the  next  day  found  them  at  S 

Springs.  Then  commenced  "  life  "  for  Louise — 
about  the  same  routine  every  day — three  or  four 
hours  passed  in  dressing,  four  or  five  more  loung- 
ing about  the  drawing  room  and  piazzas,  with  an 
occasional  ride,  and  a  daily  walk  to  the  "  springs." 

The  greatest  desires  of  her  heart  were  satisfied, 
in  receiving  abundance  of  admiration  and  atten- 
tion. She  found  also,  with  so  many  surrounding 
her,  she  could  forget  Mr.  Carleton,  in  a  measure, 
though  now  and  then  there  would  come  a  pang, 
as  she  compared  him  with  others. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  society  she  needed,"  said  her 
father  to  Mrs.  Livingston,  after  reading  one  of 
Louise's  letters,  in  which  she  had  mentioned  her 
restored  health,  and  how  thankful  she  was  he  had 
sent  her  there.  "  I  am  sorry  she  is  so  fond  of  it; 
I  wish  her  tastes  were  more  like  Margaret's  and 
Bessie's." 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  227 

"  The  Lord  only  can  change  her  heart,"  replied 
Mrs.  L.  "  She  is  entirely  engrossed  with  this 
world  and  its  pleasures,  and  you  cannot  persuade 
her  but  that  we  are  all  wrong  in  our  views  of  life, 
and  she  right.  She  has  often  said  to  me,  '  it  is 
my  taste  makes  me  so  different  from  you.  I  can- 
not find  any  pleasure  in  such  common  place  affairs 
as  you  do,  and  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  be 
blamed  for  having  such  taste  ;  it  was  born  in  me.' 
Well,  experience  will  teach  her  at  least,  and  she 
is  in  the  Lord's  hands,  and  He  will  lead  her,  just 
as  it  is  best." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  Georgie  Noble  ?" 
said  Louise,  one  day.  Why,  I  never  saw  you  so 
nervous ;  first  you  are  looking  out  of  this  window, 
then  out  of  that,  and  you  keep  yourself  in  a  con- 
stant motion." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  replied  Georgie,  turn- 
ing round  from  the  window,  and  gazing  steadfast- 
ly at  Louise,  "  why  I  wanted  to  see  if  it  was  going 
to  rain  ;  I  am  going  out." 

"  Oh  !  dear  me,"  returned  Louise,  "how  you 
can  enjoy  such  long  walks  I  don't  see  ;  why  you 
were  gone  nearly  three  hours  yesterday,  and  Mrs. 
Marchmont  became  so  alarmed  that  she  spoke  of 
going  in  search  of  you,  for  fear  some  accident  had 
happened  to  you." 


228  THE  HUNTINGDOXS  I    OR, 

"  Was  that  so  ?  "  replied  Georgie.  "  Well,  I 
shan't  go  again  after  to-day  to  worry  her.  By 
the  way.  Lulu,  I  wish  you'd  lend  me  some  money  ; 
I  want  to  purchase  some  things,  and  I  haven't 
enough." 

"  Well,  take  what  you  wish,"  returned  Louise, 
"  My  purse  is  in  my  drawer." 

Georgie  opened  the  drawer,  and,  without  look- 
ing in  the  purse,  took  it  up,  and  placed  it  in  her 
pocket,  then  turning  round  she  came  to  Louise, 
who  was  lying  on  the  bed,  and  said, 

"  Lulu,  how  much  better  you  do  look.  I  must 
kiss  you  this  morning,"  and  bending  down,  she 
kissed  her  a  number  of  times. 

"  Why,  Georgie  Noble,"  returned  Louise, 
"  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Seems  to  me  you 
do  appear  very  strange  to-day,  When  can  I  rer 
member  of  your  kissing  me  before  !" 

"Do  I?"  responded  Georgie,  turning  to  her 
wardrobe.  "  Well,  don't  get  worried  if  you 
shouldn't  see  me  by  noon,  and  tell  Mrs.  March- 
montl  will  take  care  of  myself." 

A  few  moments  more  and  Georgie  passed  out 
saying,  "  Good-bye,  Lulu.  Let  me  always  see 
you  looking  just  so  bright."  When  the  door  was 
shut,  she  stopped  a  moment  and  seemed  to  be 
undecided     about     something,    then   murmuring, 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  229 

"  Better  not,"  she  passed  on  quickly,  down  the 
stairs  and  out  a  side  entrance. 

Noon  came,  but  no  Georgie,  and  Mrs.  March- 
mont  was  again  uneasy  over  her  long  absence. 
Coming  into  Louise's  room,  an  hour  past  noon, 
she  saidj 

"  Miss  Huntingdon,  I  don't  exactly  like  these 
long  rambles  of  your  cousin.  I  don't  see  what  she 
can  find  with  which  to  amuse  herself  so  long.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  am  a  little  suspicious  of  her.  She 
has  not  an  open  frank  way  in  speaking  about  it. 
But  there,  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  express  my- 
self so.  I  only  mentioned  it,  thinking  perhaps 
you  might  have  noticed  something  strange  in 
her." 

"  I  have  not  before,  until  this  morning,"  replied 
Louise,  "  and  then  her  conduct  seemed  very 
strange  to  me,  and  I  spoke  of  it  to  her,  but  she 
did  not  pay  much  heed  to  it.  She  said  she  should 
not  go  out  again,  after  this  morning,  and  that  if 
she  did  not  return  by  noon  I  must  not  be  worried. 
She  is  naturally  of  the  disposition  ycu  find  her, 
besides  she  has  some  private  troubles  which  make 
her  more  reserved,  I  think."  Just  here  they 
were  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  on 
Louise  opening  it,  a  porter  handed  her  a  note  di- 
rected to  herself. 

"  'Tis  from  Georgie,"  said  she,  in  a  surprised 


230  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

tone,  as  she  took  it,  and  glanced  at  the  hand- 
writing. Opening  it,  she  found  another  note  di- 
rected to  Mrs.  Marchmont,  which  she  passed  to 
that  lady,  saying,  in  a  more  excited  tone,  "  What 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

Mrs.  Marchmont  nervously  opened  hers,  but 
read  only  a  few  lines,  as  Louise  suddenly  exclaim- 
ed, "  Oh  !  Mrs.  Marchmont,  I  shall  faint — pass 
me  that — that — "  but  the  words  were  lost,  and 
Louise  lay  in  a  death  like  swoon.  Mrs.  March- 
mont rang  the  bell  immediately  for  assistance, 
and  administered  the  remedies  she  had  at  hand. 
But,  ere  assistance  came,  Louise  revived  some- 
what, and  recovered,  so  as  to  be  conscious.  She 
was  placed  upon  the  bed,  but  she  said  nothing, 
and  as  she  seemed  tranquil,  Mrs.  Marchmont  took 
up  the  letter  which  Louise  had  dropped,  and 
hushing  her  own  trembling  heart,  she  read. 

"  Dear  Lulu, 

How  sweetly  you  are  sleeping  now,  at  this  midnight  hour, 
little  dreaming  what  cousin  Georgie  is  doing. 

"  Two — three  letters  has  she  written,  and  now  the  last  one 
she  will  ever  write  as  she  is — is  commenced.  Twenty-four 
hours  hence,  oh,  Lulu  !  where  and  what  will  she  be?  Shall 
I  tell  you  ?  can  you  not  imagine  it  ?  Draw  down  your  head 
and  I  will  whisper  it ;  far  from  you,  forever  parted  from  you, 
forever  united  to  another — a  wife  !  Yes,  Lulu,  twenty-four 
hours  hence,  I  shall  be  the  wife  of  Mr.  Say  brook.      You 


GLIMPSES     OF  INNER  LIFE.  231 

know  better  than  any  one  else  how  I  have  loved  him,  and 
what  an  idol  he  is  to  me.  Yes,  I  do  worship  him.  I  know 
he  has  faults,  one  vry  great  one — but  my  love  o'erlooks 
them,  and  I  have  faith  he  will  overcome  them. 

"  I  know  neither  your  family,  nor  my  own, — what  is  spar- 
ed to  me — approve  of  my  choice,  but  I  marry  to  please  my- 
self; and  as  this  month  has  made  me  a  free  woman,  I  feel  at 
liberty  to  follow  this  choice.  Mr.  Saybrook  has  been  in  town 
during  the  past  week,  and  you  can  now  imagine  with  whom 
I  have  been  taking  my  long  walks.  We  are  to  be  married  at 
a  cousin's  of  his,  Mr.  Wm.  Saybrook,  to-morrow  morning,  at 

eleven  o'clock.     This  cousin  lives  about  five  miles  from  S , 

on  the  road  to  B ,  in  a  large  white  house,  a  weeping  elm 

in  front.  I  mention  this  to  you  thus  particularly,  because  I 
shall  expect  a  visit  from  you,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marchmont, 
day  after  to-morrow.  Now  you  may  wonder  why  I  do  not 
invite  you  to  the  wedding.  1  did  think  of  it  at  first,  but 
was  afraid,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marchmont  do  not  understand 
my  affairs,  it  might  produce  an  unpleasant  explanation,  if 
not  serious  trouble,  and  Lulu,  I  would  not  invite  you  with- 
out them,  as  it  might  in  some  way  place  you  in  a  false  posi- 
tion. You  understand  me,  you  might  get  blamed  unjustly 
at  home,  perhaps.  I  expect  your  family,  especially  your 
father,  will  be  very  much  displeased  at  my  taking  this  step, 
and  indeed  I  am  very  sorry  to  cause  this  displeasure ;  but 
how  or  what  else  can  I  do?  I  am  determined  to  marry  Mr. 
Saybrook,  and  I  am  quite  positive  your  father,  as  well  as  my 
step-father  would  never  consent  to  it.  I  therefore  take  the 
matter  into  my  own  hands,  and  am  willing  to  abide  by  the 
consequences.  I  do  hope,  though,  it  will  not  cause  you  any 
uneasiness  or  unhappiness.  1  have  written  to  your  father 
and  told  him  all  the  circumstances.  Please  read  this  to  Mrs. 
Marchmont,  to  whom  I  have  also  written,  informing  her  of 
my  intended  marriage,  and  inviting  her  to  call  on  me. 


232  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :  OE, 

"  Trusting  to  see  you  both  Thursday  morning,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  I  remain, 

Yours  affectionately, 

Georgie  Noble. 
Wednesday  morning. 

"  I  will  return  soon  the  money  I  have  borrowed  of  you,  as 
I  am  expecting  some  every  day.  I  was  obliged  to  take  it  all. 
I  shall  send  for  my  trunks  this  afternoon.  They  are  nearly 
all  packed.  Will  you  please  have  them  in  readiness  when 
they  are  called  for,  and  oblige 

G.N. 

As  Mrs.  Marchmont  finished  it,  she  raised  her 
eyes,  and  saw  that  Louise  was  gazing  at  her,  and 
evidently  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  Louise  ?  "  said  she. 

"  A  good  deal  better,",  replied  Louise,  "  though 
my  head  is  weak,  and  a  little  bewildered.  Oh! 
Mrs.  Marchmont,  how  could  Georgie  have  done  so  ! 
What  will  papa  say  ?  Oh !  I  know  he  would 
have  had  her  married  at  our  house  if  she  had 
spoken  to  him  about  it.  Where  is  the  letter,  I 
want  to  read.it  again  ?  " 

"  Had  you  better  now  ?"  returned  Mrs.  March- 
mont. 

"Yes,"  replied  Louise  ;  "it's  just  as  well  as  to 
be  thinking  about  it.  I  sha'n't  faint  again.  I 
shouldn't  then,  if  it  hadn't  come  so  suddenly.  I 
haven't  read  all  the  letter." 

Louise  perused  it  again,  and  then  laying  it 
aside,  she  attempted  to  rise. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  233 

"  Oh  !  don't,  said  Mrs.  Marchmont,  springing  to 
her  side.  "  Don't  rise  now  ;  you  are  too  weak. 
What  do  you  want?  I  will  get  it  for  you." 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Louise,  dropping  back  upon 
her  pillow.  "  I  only  thought  I  would  try  to  get 
Georgie's  things  ready  for  her  trunk. 

"  Let  me  attend  to  them,"  said  Mrs.  Marchmont* 
"  you  can  tell  me  what  they  are,  and  which  trunks 
are  hers,  and  I  will  pack  them." 

"  Oh  !  dear,"  saitkLouise,  as  she  watched  Mrs. 
Marchmont,  "  I  cant  believe  all  this.  Georgie 
Noble  married  !  What  will  her  father  say  ?  Why, 
she  was  sent  to  our  house  just  to  get  her  away 
from  him,  because  her  father  thought  him  un- 
worthy of  her.  He  is  addicted  to  drinking,  I  be- 
lieve, and  now  to  think  that  she  has  married  him 
after  all !  She  has  corresponded  with  him  all 
along.  I  never  thought  that  it  would  result  in 
anything,  or  I  would  have  told  father  about  it,  al- 
though I  promised  her  I  wouldn't.  I  wish  now 
I  had  told  him.  I  am  afraid  he  will  blame 
me." 

"You  certainly  ought  to  have  done  so,"  replied 
Mrs.  Marchmont,  "but  I  do  not  think  he  could  have 
hindered  it  eventually.  Georgie  is,  as  she  says, 
free,  and  can  marry  whom  she  pleases,  but  I  am 
sorry  to  have  such  a  noble  young  woman  thrown 
away  upon  a  worthless  man." 


234  THE   HUNTINGDON'S:    OR, 

"  She  loves  him  so  much,  perhaps  she  will  re- 
form him,"  returned  Louise. 

"  We  can  hardly  hope  for  that,"  replied  Mrs. 
Marchmont.  "  It  has  been  well  observed,  if  a 
woman's  love  cannot  effect  a  chancre  before  mar- 
riage,  it  is  not  very  likely  to  do  it  afterward." 

"  Oh !  dear,"  returned  Louise,  "  but  what  a 
way  to  get  married  !  What  will  our  friends  say, 
and  the  people  here.     What  shall  we  tell  them  ?  " 

"  We  can  say  that  she  has  gone  to  some  friends  of 
hers  a  few  miles  above  here,"  replied  Mrs.  March- 
mont. "  I  am  afraid,  however,  that  the  truth  will 
soon  come  out ;  it's  rather  difficult  to  keep  such 
matters  hushed  up,  especially  in  a  place  like  this." 

"  Then  I  want  to  go  home,"  said  Louise.  "  I 
couldn't  endure  such  disgrace.  Oh !  I  am  all  of 
a  flutter;  how  this  has  unnerved  me." 

",Poor  child  !  "  returned  Mrs.  Marchmont.  "  I 
am  afraid  this  will  undo  all  the  good  you  have 
gained  here.  Do  try  and  compose  yourself.  By 
the  way,  had  you  not  better  come  in  my  room ;  it 
is  more  cheerful  there  ;  you  can  see  out  on  the 
street.     These  trunks  are  now  quite  ready." 

An  hour  later  and  the  trunks  were  sent  to  their 
destination,  a  note  also,  saying  that  "  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Marchmont  and  Louise  would  accept  the  in- 
vitation of  Mrs.  Saybrook  for  Thursday  morning." 

The  day  after,  Georgie's  letter  to  Mr.  Hunting- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  235 

don,  was  received  at   Easy   Hall,   and  produced 
much  sorrow  and  consternation  amongst  them  all. 

"  I  do  not  know  as  we  could  have  expected 
anything  else,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston.  "Georgie 
has  a  very  determined  will." 

"  It  does  not  surprise  me,"  said  Mr.  Hunting- 
don, "  for  I  have  noticed  for  quite  a  time  that  she 
has  seemed  very  absent  minded,  as  though  she  was 
planning  something,  and  I  have  rather  feared,  from 
what  Edward  remarked  to  me  before  leaving, 
something  of  this  kind  ;  still  I  thought  her  good 
sense  would  have  led  her  to  have  sought  an  hon- 
orable way  of  marriage — one  that  would  have  been 
pleasing  to  us  all.  Her  father  never  would  have 
given  his  consent  to  the  marriage,  but  I  do  not 
think  he  would  have  forbidden  it ;  and  I  had  de- 
cided, had  she  spoken  to  me  about  it,  and  seem- 
ed resolved  to  marry  him  anyway,  to  have  given 
her  a  wedding,  as  I  would  one  of  my  own  daugh- 
ters. I  am  extremely  sorry  she  has  done  so,  the 
effect  is  so  hurtful,  both  upon  her  character  and 
her  happiness.  Besides,  it  is  setting  a  bad  exam- 
ple to  others." 

Much  of  the  above  Mr.  Huntingdon  wrote  to 
Georgie,  and  also  to  Mrs.  Marchmont  and  Louise. 
He  also  invited  Georgie  and  her  husband  to  visit 
Easy  Hall  at  their  convenience,  and  enclosed  a 
check  of  $200  for  a  wedding  present. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marchmont  and  Louise  made  their 


230  THE   HUNTIXGDONS  :    OR, 

visit  to  Georgie,  as  they  had  promised,  and  they 
were  all  agreeably  disappointed  in  Mr.  Saybrook, 
whom  they  found  an  intelligent  and  pleasing  gen- 
tleman, though  Mr.  Marchmont  detected  readily  a 
"want  of  resolution  in  his  character,  which  told  too 
well  that  he  would  easily  succumb,  in  an  hour  of 
strong  temptation.  No  marks  of  intemperance 
were  now  to  be  observed,  and  Louise  returned 
home  quite  hopeful  that  Georgie's  love  and  care 
would  eventually  save  him. 

The  next  week,  the  day  before  Georgie's  depar- 
ture to  her  new  home  in  the  West,  she  received 
Mr.  Huntingdon's  letter,  and  many  were  the  tears 
she  shed  as  she  marked  its  kindly  tone  and  fervent 
wishes  for  her  happiness,  many  also,  her  regrets 
that  she  had  not  opened  her  heart  to  her  uncle, 
and  pleased  him  and  the  whole  family,  who  had 
ever  been  kind  and  attentive  to  her,  by  a  satisfac- 
tory marriage.  She  wrote  again,  thanking  him 
for  his  kind  wishes,  the  invitation  to  Easy  Hall, 
and  the  check,  which  was  extremely  mortifying 
for  her  to  retain  under  the  circumstances,  but 
which  she  did  not  dare  to  return.  She  said  noth- 
ing, however,  about  her  regrets  at  the  manner  of 
her  marriage — her  proud  heart  rebelled  against 
acknowledging  them  —  and,  therefore,  her  letter 
failed  to  produce  that  satisfaction  it  would  have 
done  had  she  frankly  expressed  them. 

A  week  or  two  after  Georgie's  departure,  Louise 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  237 

became  very  anxious  to  return  home.  As  Mrs. 
Marchmont  feared,  Georgie's  marriage  began  to 
be  whispered  about  suspiciously,  and  Louise  found 
herself  placed  in  a  very  disagreeable  position, 
when  questioned  about  it.  Besides,  she  could  not 
bear  the  knowing  looks  which  passed  around,  and 
wrote  to  her  father  to  come  immediately  after  her. 
She  returned,  therefore,  to  Easy  Hall,  quite  con- 
tented, glad  to  escape  for  once  from  the  fashionable 
world. 

On  her  way  home  in  the  cars,  while  reading  a 
newspaper,  her  eye  caught  this  insertion  among 
the  marriages: 

"  In  New  York,  Aug.  20th,  by  Rev.  Win.  Hamilton,  Her- 
bert Carleton,  Esq.,  to  Mary  Bartlett,  youngest  daughter  of 
Hon.  George  Cushing."  .  . 

No  wonder  a  sudden  film  came  over  Louise's 
eyes,  and  her  head  fell  heavily  back  against  the 
window  ;  no  wonder  that  her  temples  throbbed, 
and  that  her  heart  beat  quick  and  heavy ;  no  won- 
der, too,  that  her  whole  nature  cried  out  for 
"  home,"  even  the  "dreary  one"  at  Easy  Hall. 
One  thought  now  only  seemed  to  dwell  in  her 
mind,  and  that  with  a  heavy,  stinging  power. 
"  Can  it  be  that  I  have  so  encouraged  others,  that 
they  have  suffered  as  I  am  now  suffering,  without 
such  encouragement.  Oh  !  then  is  my  punishment 
just ;  how  thoughtless,  how  wickedly  thoughtless, 
have  I  been  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LOUISE'S  journey  had  been  beneficial  to  her 
more  than  in  the  recovery  of  her  health  ;  she 
did  not  forget  at  once  the  mortification  she  had 
experienced  at  S Springs,  nor  the  self-con- 
demning, though  wholesome,  thoughts  following 
upon  her  discovery  in  the  cars.  She  really  com- 
menced practising  and  studying,  and  rode  horse- 
back with  Bessie,  much  to  her  aunt  Livingston's 
satisfaction. 

One  evening,  about  a  moath  after  her  return, 
she  followed  her  father  into  the  library,  and  placing 
before  him  a  letter,  said,  "  Father,  will  you  please 
read  this,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Huntingdon  took  the  letter  somewhat  won- 
deringly,  and  slowly  perused  it.  Smilingly  he 
laid  it  down  and  said,  "  Well,  Louise,  it's  a  verita- 
ble offer,  isn't  it  ?  But  who  is  this  Mr.  Kemp  ?  I 
have  never  heard  you  speak  of  him." 

"  No,  father,"  replied  Louise  ;  "  it's  a  gentleman 
Mr.  Marchmont  introduced  me  to  at  the  Springs. 
He  was  very  kind  and  attentive  to  me  ail  the  time 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE  239 

I  was  there,  but  Iliad  no  idea  he  cared  for  me, 
save  as  a  friend,  till  I  received  this." 

"  What  kind  of  a  gentleman  did  he  appear  to 
be  ?  "  returned  Mr.  H. 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  responded  Louise,  "I 
am  afraid  you  wont  like  him,  he  is  so  much  older 
than  I  am ;  he  is  forty  at  least,  if  not  more  ;  is 
rather  good-looking,  well  educated,  very  rich — so 
they  say — and  was  considered  quite  a  chance  at 
the  Springs.  He  is  in  business  in  New  York.  Mr. 
Marchm^nt  woulc  tell  you  about  him  ;  and  perhaps 
it  is  as  good  a  chance  as  I  shall  get." 

"Louise,"  said  her  father  in  amazement,  and 
somewhat  sternly,  "  you  surprise  me.  Do  you  love 
this  man  ?  You  talk  as  though  you  were  arrang- 
ing a  matter  of  business." 

"  Love  him  !  yes,  I  love  him  as  well  as  I  do  any 
gentleman." 

"  My  child,"  continued  Mr.  Huntingdon,  "  I  do 
not  know  what  to  make  of  you ;  your  love  for  Mr. 
Kemp  does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  such  as  I  wish 
one  of  my  daughters  to  give  to  any  man.  Do  you 
think  Bessie  would  speak  about  Mr.  Belmont  as 
you  do  regarding  Mr.  Kemp  ?  " 

"  No,  father  ;  no  indeed,"  replied  Louise,  brush- 
ing away  a  tear,  which  he  did  not  fail  to  notice ; 
"  but  I  do  respect  Mr.  Kemp  highly,  and  by  and 
by  I  do  not  doubt  I  shall  love  him.     I  do  not  think 


240  THE    EUNTIXGDOXS  :    OR, 

I  shall  ever  see  any  one  I  can  love  better.  I  know 
I  shall  not  now." 

The  now  Was  so  mournful,  it  opened  a  page  in 
Louise's  life  that  her  father  had  never  supposed 
existed  there ;  but  he  only  said  tenderly,  "  Well, 
Louise,  I  will  make  inquiries  about  this  gentleman, 
and  if  I  find  no  objections,  you  can  receive  his  at- 
tentions." 

Louise  waited  patiently  till  her  father's  return 
from  the  city  the  next  day,  and  was  not  surprised 
when  he  said,  "  Louise,  I  have  inquired  about  Mr. 
Kemp,  and  I  find  him  a  very  moral,  respectable 
man,  though  he  is  not  a  Christian.  But  his  age  is 
seriously,  a  great  objection.  Why  child !  he  is 
nearer  fifty  than  forty — -as  old  as  your  father.  Do 
you  think  you  can  call  such  a  man  husband?  and 
do  you  not  think  you  had  better  wait  ?  If  you 
loved  him  as  you  ought  to  love  a  husband,  it  would 
be  a  different  thing.  I  told  him  that  I  should  be  hap- 
py to  have  him  call  upon  us,  but  I  felt  that  I  could 
not  commit  you,  my  child;  so  I  said  you  would  give 
him  an  answer  to  his  letter  after  further  delibera- 
tion. I  feel  as  though  you  must  wait  some  time  at 
least,  before  you  engage  yourself  to  him.  I  am 
afraid  you  don't  know  your  own  heart  just  now." 

"  Yes  I  do,"  replied  Louise,  shaking  her  head  ; 
"  and  you  will  let  me  tell  him  how  I  feel  about  it, 
will  you  not  ?  " 


GLIMPSES  OF  IN-NEK  LIFE.  241 

"  Yes,"  hesitatingly  returned  her  father,  "  if  you 
will  add  all  I  have  said." 

"I  will  do  so,"  replied  she,  "  but  my  mind  is 
decided  ;  I  do  not  think  I  shall  alter  it.  I  never 
liked  those  "young  fops  "  you  have  seen  me  with 
so  much.  I  talked  and  laughed  with  them,  but 
that  was  all.  I  know  I  should  prefer  an  older 
man,  any  way." 

"  Well,"  responded  her  father,  "  it  is  of  course 
your  happiness,  and  your's  only,  I  wish  to  con- 
sult. I  know  this  matter  of  a^e  does  not  affect 
his  character,  but  still  I  had  rather  you  would 
know  him  and  yourself  better,  before  you  de- 
cide." 

No  further  reference  was  now  made  to  the  mat- 
ter, and  Mr.  Kemp  became  quite  a  welcome 
visitor  at  Easy  Hall.  But  though  Louise  mani- 
fested respect  and  seemed  to  enjoy  his  presence, 
there  was  a  quiet  easy  nonchalance  in  her  manner 
that  pained  Mrs.  Livingston. 

Often  she  and  Mr.  Huntingdon  had  conversed 
upon  the  matter,  and  as  often  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  nothing  could  be  done.  Mr.  Kemp 
had  been  fully  informed  how  Louise  regarded 
him,  but  he  was  satisfied  with  it,  and  felt  quite 
assured  he  would  in  time  win  her  love.  Mr. 
Huntingdon  proposed  to  them,  at  first,  separation 
for  a  while,  and  a  journey  to  Europe  for  Louise  ; 


242  THE   HUNTINGDONS. 

but  she  would  not  accede  to  the  proposition. 
Settled  in  her  own  mind,  however,  she  became 
more  and  more  companionable,  and  interested  in 
the  affairs  of  those  surrounding  her.  She  even 
offered  to  teach  the  little  girls  of  the  Sunday 
School  to  sing  Saturday  afternoons,  and  became 
quite  interested  in  it. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  Sunday  School,  during  the  summer,  had 
been  carried  on  with  commendable  zeal,  and 
the  number  had  increased  from  eighteen  to  thirty. 
«  To  Margaret,  it  had  been  a  great  care,  but  also  a 
great  pleasure.  While  Mrs.  Livingston  had  her 
household  duties,  and  Bessie,  Mr.  Belmont,  to 
divide  their  thoughts,  Margaret's  were  principal- 
ly centred  on  the  Sunday  School,  particularly  her 
class.  She  had  had  them  meet  her  every  Wed- 
nesday afternoon,  for  instruction,  in  a  variety  of 
ways.  A  number  of  her  class  were  poor  girls, 
who  would  hereafter  probably  work  at  some 
trade,  or  labor  as  domestics  for  their  support,  so 
she  taught  them  all  kinds  of  handiwork,  in  which 
she  herself  excelled.  She  also  instructed  them 
intellectually  ;  and  to  interest  them,  and  to  impress 
some  lessons  more  vividly,  and  without  personal 
allusion,  upon  their  minds,  she  wrote  a  story,  and 
read  them  two  or  three  chapters  as  they  met. 
These  were  rare  seasons  to  the  young  misses,  and 
Margaret  soon  found  from  many  little  evidences, 
that  she  had  indeed  won  their  love.     These  marks 


244  THE   HU^TINGDONS  :     OB, 

of  affection  fell  like  sunbeams  on  her  love-desiring 
heart. 

She  was  not  only  interested  in  her  class, 
but  visited  and  became  well  acquainted  with  the 
parents  of  her  scholars,  and  often  gave  them  a 
helping  hand.  It  was  at  her  suggestion,  that 
their  household  duties  were  arranged  more 
methodically,  and  they  learned  from  her  both 
the  sentiment  and  the  practice  of,  "a  place  for 
everything  and  everything  in  its    place." 

One  day,  after  Mrs.  Livingston  returned  home 
from  a  round  of  calls,  she  went  into  Margaret's 
room  and  said,  "  Margaret,  you  must  read  that 
story  to  me,  you  are  writing  for  your  class.  I  call- 
ed to-day  upon  two  or  three  of  the  parents  of 
your  scholars,  and  they  had  scarcely  anything  to 
speak  about,  save  you  and  your  book.  Mrs. 
Eogers  fairly  kept  me  a  good  deal  longer  than  I 
ought  to  have  staid,  by  quite  an  account  of  it,  that 
Ellen  had  given  her  ;  so  now,  wont  you  let  me 
have  the  pleasure  of  reading  it  myself,  or  of  hear- 
ing you  read  it?  " 

"  Why,  aunt  Livingston  !  "  ^replied  Margaret 
quite  abashedj  "  it's  only  a  children's  tale ;  it 
pleases  them,  but  you  would  soon  get  tired  over 
such  a  simple  story  ;  beside,  you  would  find  so 
many  errors  in  it ;  the  children  can't  discover  them, 
you  know.     No,  don't  ask  of  me  such  a  favor." 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  245 

But  Mrs.  Livingston  was  not  to  be  denied,  and 
finally,  Margaret  was  obliged  to  read  her  some 
chapters.' 

"  Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  L.,  as  she  finished  them, 
"  why  don't  you  publish  that  book  ?  " 

"  Publish  it !  "  replied  Margaret,  "  why,  what 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  returned  Mrs.  L.,  "  it  is 
very  interesting,  and  well  written,  and  I  think 
you  can  easily  dispose  of  it  at  one  of  the  So- 
cieties." 

Margaret  was  indeed  surprised  at  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston's proposition,  but  the  more  she  considered 
it,  the  more  inclined  she  felt  to  try  it. 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  reasoned  with  herself,  "  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  writing  a  book, 
but  then,  aunt  Livingston  has  good  judgment,  and 
she  would  not  propose  it,  if  the  book  were  not 
worthy  of  being  published  ;  beside,  if  I  get  any- 
thing for  it,  I  can  purchase  some  more  books  for 
our  library,  and  we  really  do  need  them.  Well, 
I  will  try." 

And  so,  with  a  letter  of  introduction  to   one  of 

the  publishing  houses  in    C- ,  from   a  friend 

of  the  publisher,  Margaret  started  off  one  pleasant 
Autumn  morning  with  her  first  attempt  at  "  book- 
making."  It  was  with  great  nervousness  and  trepi- 
dation that  she  announced  her  desire  to  the  "  pub- 


246  THE    HUXTIXGDOXS  .*    OR, 

lisher,"  expecting  in  reply,  "  Well,  we  are  very- 
sorry,  but  we  have  so  many  offers  of  such  books ;" 
or,  "  so  many  on  hand  now,  we  must  decline  it ;" 
or,  "  we  would  like  to  publish  it,  but  really,  busi- 
ness is  so  dull  now  ;"  but  no,  he  asked  for  the 
manuscript,  and  just  turning  it  over,  said  he 
would  look  it  through  at  his  leisure,  and  she 
could  call  again  for  his  decision.  That  it  was  not 
immediately  refused,  was  decidedly  encouraging 
to  Margaret,  and  she  descended  the  stairs  with  a 
lightened  heart,  but  only  to  ascend  them  in  a  few 
weeks  with  a  heavier  one. 

When  she  entered  the  store,  the  publisher  was 
engaged,  and  so  her  heart  was  kept  alternating 
between  hope  and  fear  a  long  half  hour,  as  she 
studied  all  the  bindings  of  the  various  books  be- 
fore her,  wondering  what  hers  would  be  like,  then 
chiding  herself  for  such  a  presumptive  thought, 
"  Of  course  the  book  wouldn't  be  accepted." 

At  last  the  publisher  approached,  and  told  her, 
with  what  seemed  to  Margaret  a  very  long  intro- 
duction, that  her  book  had  been  examined  by  the 
"  board  of  publication  ;"  had  been  accepted  and 
placed  on  the  list  for  publication  ;  but  at  present, 
etc.  Finally  the  understanding  was,  that  it  was  to 
be  published  jointly  by  the  "  board  "  and  him- 
self. 

Margaret's  heart  was  now  almost  too  full  to 


GLIMPSES  OF    INNER  LIFE.  247 

speak,  but  she  endeavored  to  behave  very  quietly- 
just  as  though  she  had  expected  it.  Taking  up  a 
book  before  her,  she  turned  over  its  leaves  and 
said,  "  Well,  I  would  like  to  take  the  amount  you 
intend  to  give,  in  books  for  our  Sunday  School 
library.      When  can  I  make  a  selection  ? 

"  Just  when  you  please,"  said  he;  "  to-day,  if 
you  like  ;  a  clerk  will  attend  to  you." 

And   Margaret  commenced    her  selections  for 

the    dear   children   in  B .     It  would  be   hard 

to  say  which  she  enjoyed  most,  her  imagination 
that  afternoon,  how  they  would  be  received,  or 
the  actual  witnessing  of  it  some  weeks  after,  when 
covered  in  their  neat  brown  covers,  each  child 
was  furnished  with  one. 

Margaret's  unlooked-for  success  with  her  first 
book,  now  woke  her  to  the  realization  that  God 
had  entrusted  her  with  a  talent,  that  she  could 
use  for  His  honor  and  glory,  and  earnestly  did 
she  now  desire  to  find  opportunities  thus  to  use  it. 

During  the  summer,  she  and  Bessie  had  often 
mentioned  how  they  wished  they  could  have  a 
building  of  their  own,  for  their  Sunday  School, 
for  then  they  could  use  it  on  other  occasions,  and 
sometimes  on  Sabbath  afternoons  they  coul(J  have 
"  meetings." 

They  mentioned  their  desires  to  Mrs.  Livings- 
ton, and  she  was  as  interested  as  they  were. 


248  THE    HUXTIXGDOXS  :    OR, 

"  We  must  trust,"  said  she  ;  "  there  are  a  num- 
ber of  our  persuasion  in  town,  and  who  knows  but 
that,  sometime,  we  may  get  a  small  church  here  ?" 

"  A  church  !  "  said  Margaret,  "  O,  how  de- 
lightful that  would  be  !  Father  says  he  has 
promised  you  to  pass  the  summers  here,  and  it 
would  be  so  convenient  and  pleasant  to  us.  It  is 
needed  in  town,  also ;  many  would  come  to  our 
church  that  do  not  attend  others." 

Margaret  did  not  forget  the  matter,  and  her 
pen,  prompted  by  a  powerful  motive,  began  to 
move  asrain.  She  did  not  reveal  her  intentions, 
and  only  said,  "  she  was   writing   another  book." 

The  Autumn  days  passed  quickly,  and  as  De- 
cember approached,  the  inmates  at  Easy  Hall  be- 
gan to  make  preparations  to  leave  for  the  city. 
Edward  Huntingdon  had  not  yet  returned,  and 
wrote  them  "  that  they  need  not  expect  him  till 
Christmas,  when  he  should  certainly  be  with 
them."  During  his  absence  he  had  faithfully  cor- 
responded with  Bessie,  and  occasionally  with  his 
father.  Lately  his  letters  had  assumed  a  very  dif- 
ferent tone  ;  and  all  became  quite  convinced  that  in 
answer  to  the  fervent  effectual  prayers  which  had 
been  so  often  offered  for  him,  he  would  come 
back  to  them  a  changed  man. 

Only  a  few  days  before  the  family  were  to  leave 
for  the  city,  Margaret    surprised  both  her  father 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  2    9 

and  Mrs.  Livingston,  by  an  earnest  request  that 
they  would  permit  her  to  remain  at  Easy  Hall 
during  the  winter;  "  I  can  come  up  nearly  every 
week  and.  see  you,"  said  she,  "  but  I  do  so  want 
to  be  here  over  the  Sabbath,  and  keep  up  the 
Sunday  School,  and  instruct  my  class  as  I  have 
been  doing:.     I  think  I  can  find  some  youno;  ladies 

o  JO 

to  assist  me  in  the  Sunday  School,  and  you  will 
grant  me  this  pleasure,  will  you  not  ?  " 

When  her  father  was  convinced  that  it  would 
be  indeed  a  pleasure,  and  Mrs.  Livingston  also 
approved  it,  he  willingly  consented  that  she  should 
remain,  with  the  understanding  that  she  was  to 
visit  them  every  week. 

And  now,  when  Margaret  was  left  sole  mis- 
tress of  the  house,  servants  and  herself,  she  was 
indeed  in  her  element. 

Ah  !  those  were  joyous  days  which  followed, 
when  seated  alone  beside  her  bright  wood  fire,  her 
pen  flew  over  the  pages  of  her  consecrated  book. 

How  radiant  her  countenance  was  at  times, 
as  she  felt  assured  that  every  word  was  written 
for  her  Master's  sake  ! 

How  she  enjoyed,  too,  at  eve,  her  "  still  hour," 
when  the  fire  was  the  only  light  about  her,  and 
alone  in  the  country  quietness,  she  confidingly 
communed  with  her  ever-present  abiding  Friend — 
so  different  from  the  cold  and  almost  heartless  de- 


250  THE    HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

votion  of  only  one  short  year  ago  !  Truly,  truly, 
she  could  say,  "  I  will  sing  unto  the  Lord  as  long 
as  I  live.  I  will  sing  praise  to  my  God  while  I 
have  my  being.  My  meditation  of  him  shall  be 
sweet.     I  will  be  glad  in  the  Lord." 


S  \ 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

EDWARD  did  come  by  Christmas,  and  a 
happy  united  family  was  it,  that  gathered 
around  the  fireside  Christmas  eve,  to  listen  to 
Edward's  journeyings. 

Many  a  meaning  glanee  was  exchanged  between 
the  various  members  of  the  family,  as  he  now 
and  then  dropped  words  full  of  deep  meaning  to 
them — words  which  told  that  the  heart  of  the 
speaker  was  at  rest.  Finally,  he  turned  to  his 
father  and  said  with  tremulous  utterance, 

"  Father,  I  do  not  wish  to  dampen  our  joy  this 
evening  by  referring  to  the  past ;  but  I  can  hesi- 
tate no  longer,  and  wish  now  in  the  presence  of 
all,  to  beg  your  forgiveness  for  the  disrespectful 
words  I  used  to  you,  regarding  Miss  Rivers,  and 
for  the  pain  I  caused  you  all  afterward.  I  shall 
ever  bless  you  that  you  sent  me  away,  and  that 
God  met  me,  and  taught  me  how  erring  I  had 
been.  And  I  do  trust  in  future  to  be  more  con- 
siderate and  loving,  not  only  as  a  son,  but  as  a 
brother.  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  to  you  all  I  have 
suffered  in  lashings  of  conscience  and   anguish    of 


^52  THE   HUNTINGDONS  I   OR, 

mind.  I  felt  it  keenly  and  intensely  before  1  left 
you,  but  I  could  succeed  occasionally,  by  dissipa- 
tion and  gaieties,  in  driving  such  feelings  away  ; 
but  when  I  came  to  be  alone  on  the  ocean,  Oh  ! 
then  I  suffered  what  no  tongue  can  describe  !  In 
bitter  anguish  I  turned  at  last  to  my  Bible,  and 
after  much  conflict  and  despair,  I  found  the  Saviour 
of  our  blessed  mother,  whose  last  words  rung  in 
my  ears  and  never  left  me,  from  the  time  I  first 
perused  them." 

There  were  tearful  eyes  all  round,  as  Edward 
spoke  these  words,  and  a  dead  silence  followed  as 
he  concluded,  for  each  heart  was  too  full  for  utter- 
ance. Finally,  Mr.  Huntingdon  said,  "  Shall  we 
return  thanks  to  God,"  and  kneeling,  the  full 
hearts  found  vent  in  prayer. 

When  they  arose,  Bessie  passed  quickly  to  the 
piano,  whispering  to  Mr.  Belmont,  as  she  passed 
him,  who  joined  her ;  and  then  with  their  sweet 
voices  they  sang, 

"  Blest  is  the  Christian's  tie  that  binds." 

And  thus  closed  Christmas  eve  with  the  Hunting- 
dons. 

It  was  only  a  few  days  after  Christmas,  that 
Edward  Huntingdon  stopped  Mrs.  Livingston,  as 
Bhe  was  entering  the  parlor   after  tea,   and   said, 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  253 

"  Aunt  Livingston,  when  may  I  see  you  ?  I 
wish  to  have  a  long  conversation  with  you." 

"  Just  now,"  replied  she.  "  "Wiill  you  come  up 
to  the  sewing  room?  we  shall  be  more  alone  there." 

"  Now,  aunt,"  said  Edward,  after  they  had 
reached  the  room,  "  I  am  going  to  make  you  my 
confidant,  just  as  Bessie  does,  and  I  want  you  to 
deal  as  frankly  with  me,  as  you  do  with  her  ;  will 

you?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  endeavor  to,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  her 
face  radiant  with  happiness,  at  this  expression  of 
Edward's  confidence  in  her. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Edward,  "  and  now  let 
me  tell  you  my  trouble  at  once.  You  know  Miss 
Eivers  perfectly  well,  and  in  what  a  relation  I 
stand  to  her.  Before  I  left,  you  could  but  observe 
that  there  were  other  matters  which  tried  me, 
save  the  troubles  at  home.  One  of  the  principal, 
and  the  most  trying,  was  the  conduct  of  Bell. 
After  the  trouble  here,  she  grew,  very  bitter  to- 
wards you  all,  and  seemed  determined  to  wreak  her 
revenge  upon  me.  She  tantalized  me  in  every  way 
possible,  and  I  felt  at  one  time  that  she  would  be 
the  ruin  of  me.  You  probably  noticed  that  I  be- 
gan to  take  intoxicating  liquors  ;  the  fact  was,  I 
wi^s  getting  desperate  through  her  conduct,  and 
my  other  trials  ;  and  had  not  father  proposed  to 
me  to  go  sway,  I  hardly  know  what  would  have 


254  THE   HUNTINGDONS:    OR, 

become  of  me.  I  clutched  at  the  proposition,  aa 
a  dying  man  would  at  a  straw,  for  I  felt  that  I  was 
fast  losing  my  self-control  and  self-respect,  and 
desired  nothing  so  much,  as  to  escape  from  home 
and  my  troubles.  When  at  sea,  as  I  told  you 
Christmas  eve,  my  anguish  was  deeper,  but  dif- 
ferent ;  it  was  only  for  my  sins  ;  and,  oh  I  with  what 
a  crushing  weight  did  the  remembrance  of  them 
fall  upon  me.  Then,  separated  from  Bell,  I  be- 
gan to  see  her  character  in  its  true  light,  and  how 
infatuated  I  had  been  ;  still  I  felt  that  I  had  been 
much  to  blame,  and  when  I  recalled  how  she  had 
been  petted  and  idolized  by  her  father,  and  bereav- 
ed of  a  mother's  care,  my  heart  bled  for  her,  and 
I  could  not  blame  her.  Then  in  deep  anguish,  I 
wrote  her  just  how  I  felt,  and  besought  her,  as 
she  loved  me,  to  do  differently,  should  we  be 
spared  to  meet  again  !  Months  passed  ;  oh  ! 
what  anxious  months  those  were  to  me,  but  I  re- 
ceived no  answer.  I  could  never  have  borne,  it 
seems  to  me,  this  suspense,  if  there  had  not  been 
a  new  strength  given  to  me  to  endure  ;  for  during 
this  time  I  made  as  I  felt,  my  peace  with  God. 

But  as  I  said,  months  passed  and  I  received  no 
answer,  and  the  time  came  for  me  to  return.  I 
felt  that  I  could  not  come  back  just  then.  I  want- 
ed to  hear  from  her,  and  so  I  delayed.  Finally  a 
letter  came,  and  with  trembling  hands  I  broke  the 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  255 

seal,  and,  oh  !  how  bitter  was  the  reading!  The 
self- same  way,  the  self-same  tones,  breathed  in 
every  word ;  and  I,  who  for  the  past  few  months 
had  dwelt  upon  her  only  in  a  fancied  loveliness 
of  character,  was  now  overwhelmed,  with  an  ah  ! 
too  true  picture  of  herself— just  as  I  left  her,  just 
the  same  ! 

"  Oh  !  what  bitter  tears  I  shed  over  that  letter  ! 
I  did  not  write  again.  When  I  returned  she  re- 
ceived me  much  more  pleasantly  than  I  had  ex- 
pected, and  then  half  apologized  for  sending  me 
such  a  letter.  It  came  so  unexpectedly  that  I 
freely  and  fully  forgave  her  ;  and  assured  her  that 
it  was  all  past,  and  that  I  hoped,  as  I  had  changed, 
she  would  also,  and  then  everything  would  be 
pleasant  for  us  here  at  home,  and  indeed  every- 
where. I  hoped  for  a  while,  but  alas  !  it  was 
only  for  a  while.     There  was  no  change ! 

"And  now  I  come  to  that  about  which  I  wish  to 
ask  your  advice.  In  spite  of  all  her  unkindness 
and  really  wrong-doing,  I  love  her  ;  yes,  I  do  ! 
but  I  am  not  happy  with  her.  My  religious  life 
suffers  from  every  interview,  and  if  I  mention  it, 
she  treats  it  with  indifference  and  scorn.  I  know 
not  what  to  do ;  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  ever  be 
happy  with  her  now  unless  she  changes  ;  but  it 
seems  as  if  it  would  cost  me  my  life  to  give 
her  up.     And  then,  would  it  be  right  ?  am  I  re- 


256  THE   HUNTING  DONS  :    OR, 

quired  to  do  it  ?  What  do  you  think  ?  Tell  me 
plainly." 

"  Edward,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  sadly,  "you 
little  know  what  a  wound  you  have  opened  by 
your  confidence,  but  I  am  going  to  repay  it,  and 
tell  you  what  no  living  soul  knows  save  the 
cause  of  it.  I  will  tell  you  my  story  first,  and 
then  we  can  speak  better  about  Bell. 

"  The  spring  before  your  father  left  for  Florida, 
Henry  Livingston,  cousin  to  my  husband,  came  to 
Easy  Hall  to  make  me  a  visit.  I  had  never  seen 
him,  as  he  went  to  Europe  before  I  was  married, 
and  did  not  return  to  this  country  again  till  the 
winter  before  he  visited  me.  During  this  time, 
his  name  had  been  a  '  household  word,'  for  he 
was  as  a  brother  to  my  husband.  They  were 
educated  together,  and  when  separated  by  Henry 
Livingston's  going  to  Europe,  they  kept  up  a  most 
lively  interest  in  each  other  by  a  very  frequent 
correspondence.  I  also  shared  in  it,  and  thus 
learned  to  love  my  husband's  cousin  as  a  brother. 
After  my  husband's  death  he  continued  to  write 
occasionally,  and  his  letters  were  full  of  sympathy 
and  consolation  to  me  in  my  widowhood. 

"  As  soon  as  possible  after  his  return,  he  visited 
me,  and  Oh  !  Edward,  it  was  as  though  my  hus- 
band had  returned  to  me  from  the  grave — his  looks, 
his  gestures,  his  manner  of  speaking,  and  all.     Can 


GLIMPSES  OF  INttER  LIFE.  257 

yon  wonder  that  my  heart  was  knit  about  him  with 
strong  cords.  He  had  visited  me  only  a  week, 
when  he  was  suddenly  taken  sick,  dangerously  so. 
I  nursed  him,  and  during  five  weeks,  cared  for  him 
with  intense  interest  and  solicitude.  He  was  de- 
lirious some  of  the  time,  and  in  his  delirium  re- 
vealed to  me  his  love,  and  in  piteous  tones  begged 
me  '  to  love  him  for  himself,  and  not  for  Charles's, 
my  husband's,  sake.'  Oh,  those  were  sad  days  ! 
By  pitying  him,  I  found  that  I  did  learn  to 
love  him  for  himself;  and  when  he  returned  to  rea- 
son, I  never  mentioned  to  him  again  any  resem- 
blance to  Charles. 

"  Soon  after  his  recovery,  he  left  for  the  city, 
saying  nothing  to  me  t)f  his  love  ;  but  after  a 
month  had  passed,  he  returned,  and  surprised  me 
by  saying  that  he  had  engaged  rooms  at  the  village 
hotel  for  the  summer,  as  he  felt  his  health  would 
be  better  in  B . 

"  Ah !  that  was  a  pleasant  summer — a  very 
blissful  summer ! — till  finally  one  evening,  Edward, 
he  told  me, how  deeply  he  love'd  me.  Oh  !  I  feared 
then  it  was  too  idolatrous.  I  knew  it  afterwards. 
It  was  only  a  few  days  later  when  he  came  to  me 
and  said,  he  must  tell  me  a  little  circumstance 
concerning  himself,  which  he  feared  I  did  not 
know,  but  which  he  felt  sure  would  not  alter  our 
relations  towards  each  other.     i  It  is  only  a  matter 


2  58  THE  HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

of  religion,'  said  he,  '  and  we  can  agree  to  disagree 
upon  that.  The  truth  is,  I  became  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic while  in  Europe.' " 

"  A  Roman  Catholic  1 "  interrupted  Edward  in 
amazement. 

"  Yes,  a  Roman  Catholic,'9  sadly  replied  Mrs. 
Livingston,  while  brushing  away  the  fast  coming 
tears.  "  Oh !  Edward,  the  thick  darkness  that 
came  over  me  then  !  I  could  not  speak  a  word  ;  I 
was  stunned. 

"  '  Why  don't  you  speak  ? '  said  he  tenderly, 
but  very  anxiously. 

"  With  an  agonizing  prayer  for  strength,  I  final- 
ly spoke,  and  said,  Henry  Livingston,  we  must 
part.  My  heavenly  Father  is  first  in  my  affec- 
tions, and  I  could  not  so  outrage  His  dying  love 
for  me,  as  to  countenance  the  horrible  sacrileges 
of  the  Eoman  Catholic  church,  as  I  should  do  by 
a  union  with  you  ;  it  would  only  be  a  union  of 
hands,  not  of  hearts. 

"*He  grew  deathly  pale,  and  taking  my  hand  in 
his,  said  sternly,  ■  Mrs.  Livingston,  do  you  know 
what  you  are  saying  ?  Will  you  dash  aside  thus 
ruthlessly  my  happiness  for  such  a  slight  matter  ? 
Do  you  know  I  never  loved  a  woman  before  ?  You 
cannot  crush  me  thus  !  ' 

64  Oh  !  Edward,  that  was  a  moment  when  the 
Tempter  came  in  all  his  power  and  sophistry ;  but 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  259 

the  blessed  Saviour  was  mightier  than  he,  and  I 
still  held  on  to  my  faith,  though  my  heart-strings 
seemed  breaking.     It  must  be  so  !  said  I,  rising. 

"  i  Do  you  mean  so  ?  '  again  said  he,  glancing 
up  with  a  haggard  expression. 

"  Oh  !  I  do,  I  do,  said  I.  Yes,  Henry,  I  love 
you,  but  I  love  my  precious,  precious  Saviour  bet- 
ter, and  I  cannot  be  more  *to  you  than  I  have  been, 
as  long  as  you  remain  as  you  are. 

"  4  Farewell  forever,  then,'  said  he,  and  quickly 
passed  out  of  the  house.  I  have  never  seen  or 
heard  from  him  since,  save  once,  when  a  friend 
said  that  she  heard  he  was  in  the  Crimea.  But, 
Edward,  I  have  never  regretted  the  step  I 
took ;  never.  I  cannot  help  believing  that  he  will 
yet  see  and  forsake  his  error  ;  I  have  faith. 

"  I  have  ever  felt  that  marrying  an  unbeliever  is 
regarded  too  lightly  by  many  calling  themselves 
Christians.  The  Apostle  has  told  us  4t  to  marry 
only  in  the  Lord ;"  and  how  can  one  who  has  re- 
nounced the  world  and  its  vanities,  conscientiously 
join  himself  to  another,  the  perfect  enemy  of  the 
Lord,  and  surround  himself  with  everything  that 
will  lead  earthward  instead  of  heavenward.  There 
is  no  true  sympathy  in  such  a  marriage,  no  matter 
how  moral  the  irreligious  partner  may  be  ;  and 
there  is  constantly  an  under-clashing  of  desire 
and   sentiment.      Little   by   little,  without  being 


260  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :  OR, 

scarcely  aware  of  it,  the  religious  partner  yieltis 
to  the  views  and  desires  of  the  irreligious.  Out- 
ward duties  may  be  performed  as  before,  but 
the  inner  life  is  not  a  rich,  growing  life.  No,  in- 
deed, how  can  it  be  with  such  an  influence  so  pow- 
erfully affecting  it ! 

"  As  regards  you  and  Bell,  the  case  is  some- 
what different.  You  have  not  sought  her  since 
you  found  the  Lord  ;  but  were  you  disengaged,  I 
should  regard  it  your  duty  ;  and  it  should  be  your 
pleasure,  to  seek  a  good  wife  from  the  Lord  and 
not  from  the  world.  Bell's  case  is  sad  indeed ; 
there  is  much  allowance  to  be  made  for  her, 
and  we  must  all  make  this  a  subject  of  prayer. 
You  ought  not,  according  to  the  way  I  view  it, 
to  marry  her  as  she  is  ,  but  you  can  wait  for  her  a 
long  while,  and  love  her  soul,  and  seek  to  lead  her 
to  Him  who  can  change  her,  and  create  her  anew 
in  Christ  Jesus.  Make  it  a  subject  of  earnest 
prayer,  and  cast  even  this  care  upon  God.  'He 
will  guide  you  aright  about  it.'  I  would  tell  her 
how  her  remarks  about  your  religion  pain  you ; 
and  Edward,  if  she  is  worthy  of  you  in  the  least, 
she  will  cease  from  love  for  you,  if  from  no  higher 
reason." 

But,  as  often  we  seem  to  be  preparing  for 
what  the  Lord  is  about  to  bring  upon  us,  so  Ed- 
ward Huntingdon  was  only  passing  through  these 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  261 

internal  conflicts  between  love  and  duty,   to  meet 
the  last  trial  concerning  Bell. 

It  was  one  evening;  as  he  left  his  closet  of 
prayer  to  call  upon  her,  that  she  entered  the  room 
dressed  for  the  street,  and  said  with  an  attempt  at 
gaiety,  "  Ned,  I  have  an  engagement  for  this  eve- 
ning with  a  friend  of  papa's,  a  very  intimate  friend 
of  his,  and  a  gentleman  much  to  my  taste.  And 
now,  seriously,  Ned,  I  must  tell  you  what  I  have 
been  considering  for  a  long  while,  that  I  think 
our  acquaintance  had  better  cease.  Your  family 
don't  like  me,  and  I  am  sure  I  don't  like  them. 
I  did  like  you,  yes,  love  you,  but  since  you  have 
become  so  religious,  I  almost  dread  to  see  you ! 
Now  don't  you  think  we  had  better  part  ?" 

"  Yes,  Bell,  if  it  is  your  wish,"  replied  Edward, 
"  and  I  am  glad  you  can  so  easily  transfer  your 
affections." 

"  O,  you  are  just  as  jealous  as  ever  !  "  replied 
Bell ;  "  I  think  you  ought  to  conquer  that,  now 
you  are  so  good  ;  but  I  shan't  forget  you  anyway, 
though  this  friend  of  papa's  will  be  more  to  my 
taste  than  you  can  be  now.  He  asked  papa  for 
me  to-day.  You  can  come  and  see  me  sometimes. 
I  am  sure  I  shall  always  love  you   as  a   brother." 

"Bell,"  said  Edward,  "it  is  all  right;  but 
should  you  see  the  day  when  you  need  a  friend, 
when  you  find  that  this  earth  does  not  satisfy  the 


262  THE  HUNTING  DONS  :  OE, 

longings  of  your  heart,  Oh !  then  seek  that  Jesus 
who  has  proved  such  a  friend  to  me.  Should  you 
need  an  earthly  one,  do  not  hesitate  to  come  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  returned  Bell  somewhat  tender- 
ly, "  but  don't  feel  angry  at  me  for  this  ;  I  couldn't 
help  it ;  papa  is  so  anxious  for  me  to  have  this  gen- 
tleman— he's  very  rich,  besides  other  things  papa 
likes  about  him — and  then  you  and  I  wouldn't  be 
happy,  any  way.  I  do  think  it's  wise  for  us  to 
separate." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edward,  "  it  is  probably  wise, 
but  I  only  wish  you  could  have  been  won  to  Christ ; 
then  we  should  have  been  happy  together." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  it  so,"  returned  Bell  tapping 
her  foot,  "  and  I  just  hate  this  religion  !  I  don't 
believe  in  it ;  I  want  to  enjoy  the  world." 

Just  here  the  bell  rang,  and  as  a  fashionable 
young  man  entered,  Edward  Huntingdon  passed 
out.  He  walked  rapidly  home  to  seek  immediate- 
ly Mrs.  Livingston,  and  to  tell  her  all. 

"  As  thy  day  is  so  shall  thy  strength  be,"  said 
she  as  he  concluded.  "  God  will  give  you  grace 
for  even  this." 

"  I  feel  it,"  replied  Edward,  "  and  know  that  it 
is  necessary ;  indeed,  I  am  thankful  that  He  has 
thus  taken  the  matter  into  his  own  hands  ;  but 
poor  Bell !  she  has  been  very  dear  to  me,  and 
nature  will  suffer." 


GLIMPSES  OP  INNER  LIFE.  263 

Supported  by  the  conscious  presence  of  Him 
who  had  given  the  stroke,  Edward  was  much  more 
cheerful  than  he  imagined  he  could  be  ;  and  as  his 
feelings  grew  more  quiet,  his  judgment  acquiesced 
more  and  more  in  the  goodness  of  God  even  in 
apparent  severity. 

The  winter  and  spring  passed  away  very  quietly 
with  the  Huntingdons — quietly  as  regarded  outer 
life,  but  full  of  hopes  and  fears,  temptations,  strug- 
gles, conflicts  and  victories  in  the  inner. 

Perhaps  no  one  had  more  influence  over  Georgie, 
when  she  was  with  them,  than  Edward ;  therefore, 
at  Mrs.  Livingston's  suggestion,  he  wrote  to  her, 
and.  gave  a  full  account  of  his  conversion  ;  and  then 
closed  with  an  earnest,  loving  appeal  to  devote 
herself  to  the  service  of  God,  to  whom  she  had 
been  dedicated  by  her  mother  in  infancy. 

But  alas  !  Georgie's  heart  was  so  engrossed  with 
the  world  and  her  family  cares,  that  she  paid  but 
little  heed  to  his  words  ;  and  on  answering  his  let- 
ter she  did  not  refer  to  the  subject  in  the  least. 
Edward  was  not  discouraged,  but  determined 
that  she  should  be  hereafter  a  particular  object 
of  earnest,  persevering  prayer,  both  for  himself 
and  all  other  faithful  praying  ones  whom  he  could 
find  to  join  him  at  the  throne  of  grace.  Just  one 
year  from  the  time  Mr.  Huntingdon  and  Bessie 
joined  the  church,  Edward  was  received.     Stand- 


264  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

ing  by  his  side,  and  baptised  immediately  before 
him,  was  an  aged  woman  who  had  long  lived  in  the 
family  of  Mr.  Huntingdon,  who  guided  Edward's 
tottering  steps  in  infancy,  and  whom  Edward  had 
now  guided  to  the  Lamb  of  God. 

Louise  was  now  the  only  one  left  in  Mr.  Hunt- 
ingdon's family  "  outside  the  fold."  Many  prayers 
had  been,  and  were  constantly  offered  for  her. 
Every  member  of  the  family  had  in  various  ways 
kindly  mentioned  the  subject  to  her,  and  "  be- 
sought her  to  be  reconciled,"  but  she  evaded  all 
entreaties  with,  "  Go  thy  way  now,"  "  I  will  at- 
tend to  it  by-and-by."  Never,  however,  did  she 
feel  so  deeply  as  the  day  when  Edward  was  receiv- 
ed into  the  church.  She  felt  then  that  she  was  in- 
deed alone,  forever  separated  from  the  rest  of  her 
family  ;  and  her  heart  ached  keenly  as  she  passed 
down  the  aisle,  before  the  Communion  season,  and 
wended  her  way  home — entered  alone  the  quiet 
home  so  oppressingly  still  this  Sabbath  evening. 
The  Holy  Spirit  was  calling  her  loudly  to  "  Come 
to  Christ ,"  but  to  stifle  His  calls  she  took  up  a 
book  of  light  reading,  and  thus  grieved,  the  gentle 
Spirit  turned  away. 

The  chief  object  of  interest,  as  summer  ap- 
proached, was  Louise,  who  still  remained  steadfast 
to  Mr.  Kemp.  And  now,  as  he  found  it  necessary 
for  him  to  be  absent  in  Europe  for  the  next  two 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  265 

years,  he  desired  to  make  Louise  his  wife,  that  she 
might  accompany  him.  Gladly  would  her  father 
have  retained  her  with  him  these  two  years,  but 
she  was  so  determined  and  anxious  to  accede  to  Mr. 
Kemp's  proposal,  that  Mr.  Huntingdon  thought  it 
best  to  consent,  and  in  just  about  one  year  after 
she  had  met  Mr.  Kemp,  she  became  his  wife. 
"  She  had  married  very  brilliantly,"  the  world 
said,  and  many  a  gay  young  girl  looked  at  her  and 
her  splendid  surroundings  with  envy. 

But  Mr.  Huntingdon  only  sighed  as  he  bade  the 
bride  "  farewell ;"  and,  as  he  watched  the  steamer 
out  of  sight,  which  bore  her  from  the  restraints  of 
home,  out  on  the  broad  gulf  of  Parisian  life,  his 
heart  sank  within  him,  and  he  said  to  himself 
again  and  again,  "  Oh !  Louise,  Louise,  God  only 
can  keep  thee  now.  Into  His  hands  1  commit 
thee." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

iASS  we  now  over  some  two  years  or  more, 
and  on  one  evening  in  the  early  part  of  Sep- 
tember we  will  again  glance  into  Easy  Hall.  En- 
tering the  parlor,  we  find  Mrs.  Livingston  and 
Margaret  seated  on  the  sofa,  listening  to  the  eve- 
ning  paper,  which  Edward  Huntingdon  is  reading. 
In  the  corner,  seated  by  an  end  window,  is  Mr. 
Huntingdon,  holding  lovingly  in  his  arms  a  tiny 
little  girl  fast  asleep. 

Just  now,  as  Edward  ceases  reading,  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston says,  "  Brother,  hadn't  Georgie  better  go 
up-stairs  now ;  it's  an  half  hour  past  her  bed- 
time." 

"  Little  one,  little  one,"  said  Mr.  Huntingdon, 
shaking  gently  the  tiny  form,  u  do  you  hear  that? 
Aunty  says  it  is  time  for  you  to  go  up-stairs  to 
Mary." 

"  Oh  !  I's  so  tired,"  says  the  little  one ;  and  then, 
languidly  turning  her  head  about,  she  rested  her 
large,  black  eyes  on  Mrs.  Livingston,  saying, 
"  Where's  Mary  ?  " 

Ah !  those   eyes   are  strangely  familiar  to  us. 


GLIMPSES    OF  INNER  LIFE.  267 

Yes ;  they  are  the  very  counterpart  of  Georgie's, 
Mrs.  Saybrook's,  and  this  little  one  is  hers ;  but 
she — is  sleeping — never  more  to  waken  to  its  ten- 
der caresses  and  loving  words. 

One  day,  some  months  since,  Mr.  Huntingdon 
received  a  letter  from  her,  penned  by  a  friend, 
begging  him  to  come  and  see  her  before  she  died, 
which  would  not  be  long,  as  her  physician  said. 
She  had  not  written  to  them  for  a  long  time  pre- 
vious to  this  ;  and  although  they  had  written  to 
her  many  times,  they  had  failed  to  obtain  any  an- 
swer, so  that  they  were  not  entirely  unprepared  at 
receiving  adverse  news  concerning  her.  No  men- 
tion  was  made  of  her  husband  in  her  letter,  but 
there  was  such  a  despairing  tone  in  it  that  Mr.  Hun^ 
tingdon  and  Mrs.  Livingston  felt  assured  that  all 
was  not  well  with  her  in  this  respect. 

With  sad  hearts  they  set  out  immediately  on 
their  journey,  for  Mrs.  Livingston  had  decided  to 
accompany  Mr.  IL,  feeling  that  she  would  be 
needed.  Their  destination  was  a  small  town  in 
Ohio,  and  in  the  outskirts  of  it,  in  a  very  small 
but  "  neat  cottage,  they  found  Georgie,  though 
only   a  faint  semblance  of  her  former  self. 

"  Oh!  this  is  too  kind  !  "  said  she,  as  they  en- 
tered her  sick  room.  Covering  her  eyes  with  one 
wasted  hand,  while  the  tears  trickled  through  the 
thin  fingers,  she  extended  the  other  to  them. 


268  THE   HTJNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

Mr,  Huntingdon  could  not  restrain  his  tears,  as 
he  tenderly  took  the  little  hand  and  marked  how 
it  was  wasted.  A  tear  falling  upon  it  started 
Georgie,  and  taking  her  other  hand  from  her  eyes, 
she  looked  up  with  a  soul-full  glance  of  penitence 
and  earnestness,  and  murmured,  "  Oh  !  uncle,  for- 
give me,  forgive  me.  I  wanted  to  ask  your  forgive- 
ness when  I  wrote  to  you.  I  saw  my  error,  but 
my  proud  heart  rebelled  against  confessing  it.  You 
do  forgive  me,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Dear  child,  you  have  been  forgiven  long  ago," 
said  he  tremulously,  while  he  bowed  his  head  and 
kissed  the  pale  white  forehead. 

"  Thank  God  ! "  said  she,  "  and  Mrs.  Livingston, 
you  forgive  me,  too,  for  all '( ' ' 

"  Certainly,  dear  one,"  replied  .Mrs.  L.,  sealing 
her  assurance,  too,  with  a  fond  caress. 

"  Now  I  can  die  content,"  returned  Georgie, 
closing  her  eyes  and  folding  her  hands  on  her 
bosom  ;  but  she  only  rested  thus  a  moment  or  two, 
for  a  violent  attack  of  coughing  commenced,  suc- 
ceeded by  perfect  exhaustion. 

During  this  time,  Mr.  Huntingdon  ascertained 
from  her  nurse  that  Georgie's  husband  was  away, 
and  had  been  gone  some  six  months,  and  that  her 
child,  a  little  girl  of  two  years,  was  now  staying 
with  the  physician  who  attended  her.  In  speak- 
ing of  her  husband,  she  spoke  with  that  careful, 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  269 

hesitating  manner  which  could  not  fail  to  arouse 
suspicion,  both  in  Mr.  Huntingdon's  and  Mrs. 
Livingston's  minds. 

Their  suspicions  were  confirmed  the  next  day, 
when  they  heard  her  story  from  her  physician's 
lips. 

"  It  is  at  the  request  of  Mrs.  Saybrook,"  said 
he,  "  I  tell  you  her  history  since  she  left  you, 
which  she  has  confided  to  me.  She  feels  that  she 
cannot  mention  it  herself,  and  I  think  that  the 
effort  would  be  too  much  for  her.  She  came 
amongst  us  directly  after  her  marriage,  and 
has  lived  here  ever  since.  Her  husband  at 
that  time  was  employed  as  a  clerk  in  a  manu- 
facturing establishment  in  town,  and  was  doing 
very  well.  But  some  six  months  after  their 
marriage,  he  began  to  take  intoxicating  drinks 
again,  which  he  had,  I  believe,  refrained  from  in 
a  great  measure  at  least,  since  her  marriage.  And 
then  —  well,  you  know  how  it  is,  he  grew  worse 
and  worse  ;  and  finally,  in  about  a  year  after  their 
marriage  was  discharged  from  his  place  for  intem- 
perance. 

"  Mrs.  Saybrook's  little  babe  was  then  scarcely 
two  months  old,  and  the  blow  fell  very  heavily 
upon  her.  She  had  some  jewels  and  other  valua- 
bles which  she  sold  for  their  maintenance ;  and 
then,  as  he  grew  worse  and  worse,  she  sold  a  large 
portion  of  her  property. 


270  THE  HUNTIXGDOXS  :    OR, 

"  Finally,  in  an  intoxicated  state,  lie  fell  and  in- 
jured his  head  so  severely,  that  he  has  been  hope- 
lessly insane  ever  since.    He  is  now  in  the  asylum 

at  T ,  in  a   very  low  condition.      Soon  after, 

she  was  taken  sick,  worn  down  with  exposure  and 
grief;  I  became  acquainted  with  her  then,  and  found 
her  in  a  very  destitute  condition.  I  inquired  if  she 
had  any  friends,  but  she  would  not,  though  ac- 
knowledging that  she  had  them,  give  me  any  clue 
so  that  I  could  find  you  ;  but  said,.  '  she  preferred 
to  die  first.'  Our  family — my  wife  and  daughter 
—  now  took  her  under  their  care,  and  in  two 
months,  she  was  quite  recovered.  Her  fine  educa- 
tion and  lady-like  appearance  procured  for  her  a 
situation  in  one  of  our  schools.  She  hired  about 
that  time  this  cottage,  and  has  lived  here  ever 
since.  She  resigned  her  school  about  three 
months  ago,  but  should  have  left  it  earlier,  as  all 
through  the  winter,  she  was  in  ill  health,  and 
troubled  with  a  cough  ;  but  she  would  not  leave 
till  obliged  to.  And  now,  it  gives  me  joy  to  tell 
you,  that  she  trusts,  last  winter,  that  she  became  a 
Christian.  My  daughter  and  she  have  been  very 
intimate  lately,  and  she  says,  that  Mrs.  Saybrook 
feels  that  her  afflictions  have  been  a  great  blessing 
to  her;  the  means  probably  of  her  becoming  a 
Christian.  She  seems  to  be  willing,  and  prepared 
to  die  ;  her  only  anxieties  have  beea  to  see  you  ;  to 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  271 

write  for  forgiveness  to  her  step-father,  toward, 
whom,  she  says  she  has  entertained  very  bitter 
feelings,  and  to  know  if  you  would  be  willing  to 
give  a  home  to  her  little  girl.  The  father,  of 
course,  if  he  lives,  which  is  very  doubtful,  will 
never  be  able  to  provide  for  it.  I  offered  to  take 
her  myself,  and  her  father  has  written  to  the  same 
effect,  but  she  desires  greatly  to  have  her  under 
your  care,  Mrs.  Livingston." 

"She  couldn't  <mre  me  a  more  welcome 
present,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  with  deep 
emotion.     "  I  cannot  thank  her  enough  for  it." 

"  It  will  make  her  very  happy  to  have  you  re- 
ceive it  so  warmly,"  replied  the  physician,  rising 
and  glancing  out  of  the  window  ;  then  he  con- 
tinued, "  I  am  expecting  her  here  every  mo- 
ment, with  my  daughter." 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  little  one  arrived, 
and  both  she  and  the  physician's  daughter  were 
warmly  welcomed  by  both  Mrs.  Livingston  and 
Mr.  Huntingdon,  who  could  not  fail  to  admire  the 
child's  ingenuous,  pleasing  countenance,  as  well  as 
her  gracefulness  of  manner. 

"  What  a  treasure  you  will  be  to  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Livingston,  folding  her  so  closely  in  her 
arms,  as  to  frighten  the  timid  child,  who  was, 
however,  soon  comforted  again. 

It  was   not  long  before  taking  her    up  in    her 


272  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OB, 

arms,  Mrs.  Livingston  passed  into  Georgie's  room 
and  said,  with  a  voice  full  of  meaning,  "  My  dear 
Georgie,  what  a  precious  baby  you  have  got !  " 

"  The  doctor  told  you,  it  is  yours,  if  you  want 
it,  did  he  not?  "  said  Georgie,  almost  gasping  for 
breath. 

"  Want  it !  "  replied  Mrs.  L.,  "  I  cannot  thank 
you,  nor  my  heavenly  Father  enough,  for  such  a 
treasure." 

"  I  cannot  be  thankful  enough  either,"  said 
Georgie,  "  that  she  has  found  such  a  mother. 
God  is  too  good  to  me  !  I  thought  if  uncle  came 
to  see  me,  I  should  be  overjoyed,  but  then  to  see 
you,  and  have  you  love  my  poor  baby  so  much, 
Oh,  I  am  too  happy!  J>  and  the  weakened  frame 
could  hardly  check  the  now  fast  coming  tears. 

Mrs.  Livingston's  kind,  soothing  tones  fell  like 
music  on  the  ear  cf  the  weary  mother,  and  ere 
long,  she  slept  quietly. 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Huntingdon  was  obliged  to 
bid  "  farewell"  to  Georgie,  and  return  home.  Mrs. 
Livingston  remained,  however,  promising  to  stay 
with  her,  as  long  as  her  poor  body  remained  to  suf- 
fer. Just  before  Mr.  Huntingdon  left,  Georgie  call- 
ed him  to  her  bed  side,  and  said,  with  trembling 
utterance,  "  Uncle,  will  you,  can  you,  care  for  — 
for  him  —  the  father  of  my  child,  till  he  —  dies  ; 
and  oh !  that  won't  be  long,   he  is   almost  gone 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  273 

now.  He'll  soon  follow  me,  and  then  you  will 
bury  him  by  my  side,  wont  you  ?  Poor,  poor 
husband  !  the  grave  will  cover  all  his  faults  !  " 

"  My  dear  Georgie,"  tenderly  replied  Mr. 
Huntingdon,  "  be  assured  it  will  be  my  pleasure 
to  attend  to  his  wants,  just  as  I  would  to  one  of  my 
own  children.  Do  not  give  yourself  the  slightest 
uneasiness  regarding  him,  and  when  all  is  over, 
Georgie,  he  shall  sleep  by  your  side,  in  our  quiet 
church-yard  at  home." 

"  At  home  !  "  returned  Georgie,  gazing  inquir- 
ingly, but  still  understandingly  at  her  uncle. 
Then,  more  assured  by  his  answering,  loving 
glance,  she  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  rais- 
ing her  eyes  upwards,  murmured  in  touching 
tones,  "  Father,  I  thank  Thee.  "Wilt  Thou  bless 
him,  Oh,  richly,  for  his  kindness  to  this  poor 
orphan  child  !  "  She  spoke  no  more,  but  reach- 
ing out  her  hand,  she  took  his,  and  fondly  clasping 
it,  still  continued  in  silent  prayer.  The  tears 
chased  one  another  down  Mr.  Huntingdon's 
cheeks,  but  he  brushed  them  not  away.  Not  for 
the  world  would  he  have  disturbed  the  enraptured 
one  before  him,  lying  there  so  serenely  calm,  so 
unearthly  beautiful.  She  was  the  first  to  move. 
Heavily  sighing  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  gazed  at 
first  somewhat  bewilderingly  around  ;  then  resting 
them    upon   Mr.    Huntingdon,    a   tranquil    smile 


274  THE   HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

played  over  her  face,  and  loosening  her  grasp  of 
his  hand,  she  tremblingly  said,  "  All  is  right  now, 
save  one  thing  ;  will  you  call  Mrs.  Livingston  ?  " 

Mrs.  Livingston  immediately  entered,  in  answer 
to  Mr.  Huntingdon's  summons,  and  passing  to 
Georgie,  said,  "  What  is  it,  darling  ?  " 

"  Will  you  get  my  keys,  and  go  to  my  black 
trunk,  and  in  a  little  white  box  which  you  will  see, 
take  out  my  ambrotype  and  bring  it  to  me?" 

"  Uncle,"  said  Georgie,  "  I  want  you  to  give 
this  picture  —  handing  it  to  him  —  to  Edward; 
tell  him  that  he  was  the  means  —  in  God' s  hands, 
of  leading  me  to  the  precious  Saviour.  Oh,  I 
meant  to  have  written  and  told  him   all   about  it, 

—  how  I  never  could  forget  his  letter,  and  how 
much  good  it  did  me.  But  I  put  it  off,  thinking 
I  should  be  better  able  to  write  it ;  but  Oh !  that 
time  has  never  come  ;  you  must  tell  him  all,  — I 
had  this  picture  taken  purposely  for  him  —  I 
wanted  him  to  have  a  new  remembrance  of  me. 
You  will  give  my  Georgie  a  copy  of  this,  I  know 

—  and  —  and  —  send  one  to  her  father,  too  ;  and 
tell  him  I  hope  to  meet  him  in  heaven." 

Georgie's  messages  to  Mr.  Huntingdon  were 
now  all  given  ;  and  exhausted,  she  could  say  no 
more  to  him,  until  he  was  about  to  leave  ;  then  con- 
troling  herself  as  much  as  possible,  she  murmur- 
ed, u  Good-bye,  uncle  —  we  shall  meet  above — ■ 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  275 

I  shall  find  father,  mother,  and  aunt  Margaret, 
too  —  we  shall  be  waiting  for  you  —  you  and  all 
—  all  —  " 

As  Georgie  touched  that  silent  chord,  Mr. 
Huntingdon  turned  pale  and  his  lips  quivered,  but 
he  smiled  on  her  —  a  longing  smile  —  and  then, 
taking  one  long,  last  caress,  he  passed  sadly,  quiet- 
ly away. 

Georgie  swooned  as  he  left  her,  and  for  two 
days,  she  lay  at  "  Death's  door,"  then  she  rallied 
somewhat  again,  and  for  a  few  days  was  con- 
siderably easier.  On  one  of  these  days  she 
called  Mrs.  Livingston  to  her,  and  said,  i;  Mrs. 
Livingston,  I  think  my  end  is  nearly  at  hand,  and 
for  fear  that  I  may  die  suddenly,  or  may  become 
worse,  so  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  speak,  I  want 
to  tell  you  now,  what  I  wish  you  to  say  from  me 
to  cousin  Margaret,  Louise  and  Bessie.  Oh ! 
tell  them  never,  never  to  love  any  one  as  I  have 
loved  my  —  my  poor  husband  —  I  made  him  an 
idol  —  I  worshipped  him  !  and  Oh  !  how  —  has 
my  heavenly  Father  punished  me  for  it  —  how 
was  He  obliged  to  tear  my  very  self  to  pieces  — 
to  get  this  idol  out  of  my  heart — I  am  glad  that 
He  has  done  it,  but  Oh !  beseech  them  never  to 
love  any  one  thus.  ,Tell  them  to  be  careful;  they 
may  be  doing  it,  and  not  be  aware  of  it,  —  I 
was  n't  at  first.     Give  Louise  my  Bible,  and  tell 


276  THE    HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

her  she  has  had  my  most  earnest  prayers  —  next 
to  my  husband  and  child.  Oh  !  I  hope  God  will 
make  my  death  a  blessing  to  her  ;  it  may  be  that 
He  will  use  me  thus,  Mrs.  Livingston ;  I  wish 
I  could  be  the  means  of  saving  one  soul." 

Here  a  violent  attack  of  coughing  interrupted 
her ;  and  as  she  herself  feared,  she  grew  worse 
and  worse  each  succeeding  day,  becoming  unable 
to  speak,  save  in  short  sentences,  till  finally  there 
dawned  a  day,  whose  close  found  her — freed  from 
bodily  pain  —  from  spiritual  conflict  —  a  disem- 
bodied spirit,  wandering  with  "  loved  ones  "  in  the 
golden  streets  of  Paradise. 

A  few  days  afterward,  Mrs.  Livingston,  the 
forever  silent  mother,  and  the  little  motherless 
one,  returned  to  Easy  Hall. 

Just  across  the  water,  over  on  the  hillside, 
Georgie  sleeps  quietly  — sleeps  by  the  side  of  her 
husband,  whom  Death  beckoned  away  only  a  few 
short  weeks  after  her  departure. 

The  path  leading  to  their  graves  is  well  worn. 
Hither  Bessie,  with  the  little  Georgie,  has  often 
come  to  mourn  during  the  past  summer,  — -  come, 
until  she  was  called  away  to  mourn  even  more 
deeply  for  a  while. 

She  is  not  at  Easy  Hall  at  present.  Did  you 
not  miss  her  bright,  beaming  face  in  the  family 
circle  ?     Just  now  in  a  distant  city,  she  sits  quiet- 


GLTMP&ES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  277 

ly  watching .  an  invalid  as  he  sleeps  ;  sometimes 
moving  gently  backward  and  forward  the  fan  she 
holds  in  her  hand  ;  sometimes  tenderly  laying  back 
the  stray  locks  of  hair  which  fall  over  the  sick 
man's  forehead.  It  is  Mr.  Belmont,  although  so 
changed.  Bessie  is  very  pale,  too ;  but  how 
angelic  her  countenance.  Sorrow  has  done  its 
work  in  her  heart.  She  told  Mrs.  Livingston  all 
the  tale  some  days  since,  and  thus  she  wrote  : 

Dear  Aunty-mother,  — 

Mr.  Belmont  has  just  gone  to  sleep,  and  so  I  joyfully  take 
this  opportunity  to  open  my  "full  heart"  to  you.  Oh!  I 
do  trust  to  write  this  time  a  letter —  and  a  long  one,  too  — 
instead  of  one  of  the  little  notes  you  have  so  long  and 
patiently  received. 

Aunty,  I  never  can  express  to  you  how  much  I  have  longed 
for  your  presence  and  comfort  during  these  "  trial  weeks." 
Sometimes  when  I  have  felt  that  I  must  tell  some  one  my  heart, 
I  have  almost  started  to  go  to  you,  thinking  you  were  near,  and 
I  should  find  you  somewhere  ;  then  the  reality  pressed  heavily 
upon  me,  "  I  had  no  one  but  Jesus  ;  and  so  day  after  day  He 
has  not  only  heard  my  griefs,  but  borne  them  for  me,  so  that 
I  have  been  a  wonder  to  myself.  I  have  thus  learned  to  cast 
all  my  care  en  Him  ;  and  aunty  dear,  oh,  it's  much  sweeter 
than  telling  you  of  it !  I  rejoice  in  this  experience,  for  1  do 
so  desire,  to  have  Christ  all  to  me  ;  and  sometimes  when  at 
home  I  found  your  comfort  so  sweet,  I  used  to  feel  sadly, 
that  when  I  went  to  Jesus,  it  was  not  so  sweet.  I  felt  it  was 
not  right,  and  grieved  over  it ;  I  knew  the  comfort  you  gave 
me  was  divine,  and  I  received  it  as  such,  but  don't  you  think 
it's  more  precious  to  drink    from  the  Fountain  itself,  than 


278  THE   HUNTINGDON. 

from  one  of  the  rivulets.  There,  aunty,  I  commenced  to  tell 
you  of  my  trials  —  no,  blessings,  but  my  heart  is  so  full  of 
Christ,  and  the  precious  lessons  He  has  taught  me  here,  it 
seems  as  if  I  could  not  speak  of  anything  else. 

Oh!  I  never  can  tell  you  how  deeply,  bitterly  sorrowful 
was  the  first  night  after  my  arrival  here.  I  had  not  imagined 
Harry  so  dangerously  sick  as  I  found  him  ;  and  as  I  sat  and 
gazed  upon  my  heart's  best  earthly  treasure,  moaning  and 
tossing  under  the  delirious  fever,  and  I  not  able  to  afford  him 
one  single  mite  of  comfort,  my  heart  groaned  within  me. 
I  heard,  too,  the  physician's  low  words  to  the  nurse,  saying, 
"He  is  very  sick,  be  extremely  cautious."  I  begged  the 
privilege  of  sitting  beside  him  that  night,  but  Oh  !  how  cold 
and  heartless  seemed  to  me  the  refusal,  though  it  was  given 
in  the  kindest  manner  possible.  I  went  to  my  room  ;  but 
not  to  sleep  ;  no,  alone  I  could  weep  and  weep,  there  was  no  one 
near  that  it  could  trouble  now.  And  now,  dear  aunty,  came 
the  severest  trial  of  all ;  for  then  when  my  heart  was  so  sore, 
and  I  was  all  alone,  no  human  comforter  near,  did  the 
tempter  appear,  and  with  such  frightful  temptations,  I  felt 
that  they  must  crush  me.  I  actually  ran,  it  seemed  to  me, 
to  God,  "  my  high  tower,  my  fortress  and  deliverer."  Satan 
whispered  again  and  again,  "  Ah  !  you  have  made  him  an 
idol,  and  now  God  is  going  to  take  him  away."  My  heart 
kept  answering,  "  Thy  will  be  done,"  and  it  was  all  I 
could  say.  "  You  only  say  that,"  said  Satan,  "  because  you 
think  God  will  spare  his  life  if  you  are  submissive."  I 
groaned,  and  thought  perhaps  it  is  so;  and  as  I  thought  of 
him,  cold  and  silent,  forever  parted  from  me,  my  anguish 
grew  intensely  deep,  and  I  moaned  aloud  from  the  depths  of 
my  soul,  "  My  Father,  the  cross  is  very  heavy  !  Help  Thou 
me,  or  I  shall  utterly  fall."  It  seemed  to  me  then,  a  strong 
arm  was  put  directly  beneath  me,  and  I  could  "  smile  on 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE  279 

Satan's  rage,"  and  whispered  again,  while  I  gazed  confiding- 
ly up  to  my  Supporter,  ':  Thy  will  be  done."  I  knew,  aunty, 
afterward,  it  was  all  a  temptation,  for  I  have  never  dared  to 
love  Mr.  Belmont  as  it  seemed  to  me  I  could,  for  fear  he 
should  in  the  least  rob  my  precious  Saviour,  of  the  love  due 
to  Him,  and  I  knew  it  was  from  my  heart,  I  said  "  Thy  will 
be  done."  My  Supporter  and  Comforter  never  left  me  after 
that  dark  night,  and  on  Him  I  leaned — leaned  heavily  all  the 
sad  waiting  days  that  followed.  My  calmness  was  a  mystery 
to  some  of  the  family,  and  you  can  imagine  how  painful  to  me 
was  the  remark  that  I  overheard  a  cousin  of  Mr.  Belmont's 
make,  "That  Miss  Huntingdon  didn't  seem  to  feel  very 
badly."  Oh!  how  little  she  knew  of  my  heart,  or  the 
strange  mysterious  power  which  upheld  me.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments, the  remark  stung  me  keenly,  but  when  I  thought  how 
often  our  Saviour  was  misunderstood,  I  was  content  to  suffer 
once  as  He  did — to  be  misunderstood  on  the  matter  most 
precious  to  my  very  being. 

'Tvvas  only  a  day  or  two  after,  however,  that  I  was  righted  ; 
for  in  company  with  this  cousin,  Mr.  Belmont's  father  said 
cheeringly,  to  me,  "  Bessie,  you  are  a  wonder  to  me,  and  to 
the  doctor,  too  ;  he  says  you  are  the  bravest  little  nurse  he 
ever  saw.  You  don't  know  how  much  your  hopeful  face 
keeps  me  up." 

"My  Father  keeps  me,"  replied  I,  "else  I  should  have 
utterly  fallen  the  first  night  I  came  here." 

"That's  right,"  replied  he*  patting  my  head,  "  always 
trust  thus  in  Him  and  you  will  be  sustained." 

I  think  I  read  correctly  the  expression  of  Miss  Donald's 
cousin's  face,  and  it  assured  me,  that  she  felt  she  had  mis- 
judged me. 

The  next  day  Harry  was  pronounced  better.  "  The  crisis 
has  passed,"  said  the  doctor,  "and  he  will  recover."     It 


280  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OR, 

did  not  comfort  me,  as  it  did  the  rest,  however  ;  for  from  the 
first  day  after  that  severe  night  of  trial,  I  was  assured  that 
he  would  not  die,  that  the  Master  was  only  purifying  us  a 
little  more  for  our  life  work,  and  that  he  would  be  spared. 

During  this  time,  Mr.  Leslie  called  a  number  of  times,  and 
brought,  as  he  always  does,  "  sweet  consolation."  On  one 
of  these  occasions  he  gave  me  these  sweet  verses,  which  I  will 
copy  for  you. 

BEARING     THE     CROSS. 

[From  the  German  of  Schmolk.] 
'*  The  heavier  cross,  the  nearer  heaven; 
No  cross  without,  no  God  -within, 
Death,  Judgment,  from  the  heart  are  driven 

Amidst  the  world's  false  glare  and  din. 
0  !  happy  he,  with  all  his  loss, 
Whom  God  hath  set  beneath  the  cross! 

The  heavier  cross  the  better  Christian,  — 

This  is  the  touchstone  God  applies; 
How  many  a  garden  would  lie  wasting, 

Unwet  by  showers  from  weeping  eyes! 
The  gold  by  fire  is  purified ; 
The  Christian  is  by  trouble,  tried. 

The  heavier  cross,  the  stronger  faith: 
The  loaded  palm  strikes  deeper  root; 

The  wine  juice  sweetly  issueth 
When  men  have  pressed  the  clustered  fruit. 

And  courage  grows  where  dangers  come, 

Like  pearls  beneath  the  salt  sea  foam. 

The  heavier  cross,  the  heartier  prayer; 

The  bruised  herbs  most  fragrant  are; 
If  wind  and  sky  were  always  fair, 

The  sailor  would  not  watch  the  star; 
And  David's  psalms  had  ne'er  been  sung, 

If  grief  his  heart  had  never  wrung. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  281 

The  heavier  cross,  the  more  aspiring, 
From  vales  wc  climb  to  mountain's  crest. 

The  pilgrim  of  the  desert  tiring , 
Longs  for  the  Canaan  of  his  rest. 

The  dove  has  here  no  rest  in  sight, 

And  to  the  ark  she  wings  her  flight. 

The  heavior  cro  -s,  the  easier  dying; 

Death  is  a  friendlier  face  to  see, 
To  life's  decay  one  bids  defying, 

From  life's  distress  one  then  is  free. 
The  cross  sublimely  lifts  our  faith 
To  him  who  triumphed  over  death. 

Thou  crucified  !    The  cross  I  carry — 

The  longer  may  it  dearer  be; 
And,  lest  I  faint  while  here  I  tarry, 

Implant  thou  such  a  heart  in  me, 
That  faith,  hope,  love  may  flourish  there, 
Till  for  my  cross  the  crown  I  wear  !" 

Are  they  not  exceedingly  sweet  and  touching  ?  I  have  read 
them  to  Mr.  Belmont  many  times,  since  he  has  been  able  to 
hear  me  read,  and  he  enjoys  them  very  much.  He  calls  me 
now,  and  I  must  bid  you  adieu  till  by  and  by. 

Thursday  Morning. 
I  hope  to  complete  this  at  this  sitting.  Harry  has  gone  to 
ride  with  his  father,  and  he  seems  to  be  improving  fast.  The 
day  I  wrote  you  before,  we  had  quite  a  long  talk,  and  we  spoke 
about  God's  design  in  all  this  affliction.  Said  Harry,  "Bes- 
sie, I  see  it  all.  You  can  hardly  imagine  how  intensely  oc- 
cupied I  became  with  my  studies  just  before  I  was  taken  sick. 
I  gave  all  my  time  to  them,  rising  up  early  and  sitting  up 
late.  I  fear,  also,  I  rather  infringed  on  my  devotional  time 
— if  I  did  not,  my  mind  was  so  occupied  with  other  things, 


282  THE   EOT1INGD0NS:    OR, 

that  they  were  attended  to  in  rather  a  careless  manner.  My 
mind  dwelt  entirely  on  my  graduation,  and  to  please  you  and 
my  friends  by  a  worthy  one  was — I  see  it  now — my  constant 
and  highest  aim.  Ah  !  the  Lord  saw  all  this,  my  unholy  de- 
sire to  please  men,  and  laid  me  low.  '  Blessed  be  His  holy 
name.'  At  first,  when  I  felt  the  disease  coming  upon  me,  it 
was  deathly  hard  to  submit,  but  He  who  alone  could  do  it, 
broke  me  down  and  I  yielded,  though  I  wept  like  a  child. 
Truly,  He  leadeth  us  in  away  we  know  not," 

As  Harry  was  saying  this,  it  was  suddenly  revealed  to  me, 
just  the  lesson  I  had  to  learn;  about  the  same  as  his,  for  all 
during  July  niy  heart  was  full  of  his  graduation,  and  I  went 
through  the  scene  over  and  over  again  in  imagination,  just  how 
he  would  appear.  Ah  !  that  was  "  the  little  fox  that  spoiled  the 
vines."  I  am  so  glad  our  Father  did  it!  I  cannot  praise 
Him  enough  for  it.  Does  He  not  lead  us  sweetly,  and  chas- 
tise us  just  exactly  as  we  need  ?  Neither  Harry  nor  I  would 
have  thought  that  we  needed  pruning  just  there,  but  the  Mas- 
ter knew,  and  tenderly  He  put  the  knife  on  these  branches. 
You  do  not  know  how  much  comfort  I  do  take  because  I  am  so 
assured  He  is  leading  us  ;  it  is  so  delightful  to  feel  that  He  car- 
eth  for  us,  just  like  an  earthly  parent,  only  infinitely  more 
tender,  more  wise !  You  know  I  always  loved  to  be  taken 
care  of.  But  there,  I  must  not  write  another  word  to-day.  I 
promise  myself,  however,  this  pleasure  again  very  soon. 

With  love  and  kind  wishes  to  all, 

I  remain  ever  yours, 

Bessie. 

B ,  Sept.  7,  18—. 

Good  morning,  Aunty  dear.  Harry  is  asleep  again,  and  so 
I  can  talk  to  you  awhile.  I  believe  I  like  to  write  letters  full 
as  well  as  to  talk,  though  perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  so 
selfish,   and   can   tell  all  about  myself  without  being  inter- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  283 

rupted,  or  obliged  to  listen  to  the  affairs  of  others,  before  1 
have  concluded  mine  own.  I  have  thought  so  sometimes  ;  so 
now-a-days  I  make  it  not  only  a  point  of  courtesy  but  princi- 
ple to  write  fully  and  interestedly  about  my  correspondents' 
"  affairs  "  before  I  mention  my  own;  and  if  there  is  any 
cramping  done  anywhere,  it  shall  be  on  my  side — not  on 
theirs.  Oh  !  this  self,  how  it  protrudes  everywhere,  and 
what  an  amount  of  crushing  it  needs!  I  do  not  need,  how- 
ever, to  do  this  when  I  write  to  you,  as  our  correspondence  is 
only  for  my  benefit,  though  I  know  "  Bessie's  letters"  do  give 
you  some  pleasure. 

Harry  gains  every  day.  As  Edward  probably  told  you,  he 
accepted  with  great  pleasure  your  invitation,  and  you  may 
expect  us  about  the  20th  of  this  month.  Oh,  I  do  long  to  see 
home  again,  and  the  "  home  ones  "  !  It  seems  a  long,  long 
time  since  I  left  you,  probably  because  I  have  passed  through 
so  much  during  the  time.  Yes,  I  may  well  say  much — much 
if  affliction,  experience,  conflict,  temptation  ;  but  much  of  joy 
in  the  Holy  Ghost  also.  He  has  been  "  taking  of  the  things 
of  Christ,  and  showing  them  unto  me,"  very  preciously  dur- 
ing the  last  week.  Harry  and  I  have  been  reading  Hebrews 
together  ;  and  Oh  !  how  has  He  shown  me  my  utter  nothing- 
ness, aside  from  Christ,  and  my  unworthiness  to  come  into 
the  presence  of  the  Holy  God,  save  through  Christ's  media- 
tion. I  cannot  approach  unto  God  as  I  used  too,  and  pray, 
closing  with  ':  for  Christ's  sake  ;"  but  I  feel  I  must  commence 
with  that,  else  my  prayer  cannot  ascend.  You  understand 
me  ;  I  want  that  thought  to  precede  the  prayer,  rather  than 
to  close  it. 

I  wish  I  could  begin  to  tell  you  the  "blessed  teachings" 
the  Master  has  taught  me  since  I  left  you-  What  am  I,  that 
thus  He  should  care  for  me,  and  come  and  abide  all  the  time 
in  my  little  heart?  I  never  am  alone,  for  He  is  with  me,  and 
my  thoughts  turn  directly  to  Him,  when  friends  are  away, 


284  THE   HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

and  often  when  they  are  present.  Don't  you  thin»k  we  can 
easily  find  out  how  we  regard  any  one,  by  watching  our 
thoughts,  and  is  it  not  comforting  to  think  that  our  Father 
will  "  bring  even  our  thoughts  into  subjection.' '  lie  is  bring- 
ing mine  more  and  more.  I  often  feel  a  power  checking  un- 
holy thoughts,  just  as  they,  are  coming,  it  seems  to  me. 

Another  thing  which  has  seemed  very  precious  lately  to  me, 
is  that  God  will  use  us  poor  mortals  to  work  for  him.  You 
do  not  know  how  thrilled  I  am  with  pleasure  when  I  find  He 
really  has  used  me,  and  I  often  find  it  to  be  the  times  when  I 
am  the  least  expecting  it — thus  setting  aside  my  will  and  my 
pleasure  even,  in  doing  His  work.  Ah  !  how  constantly  is  He 
obliged  to  "  set  aside  our  wills ;  "  answering  our  prayers,  but 
not  exactly  as  we  willed  them  to  be  answered ;  giving  us 
work,  but  not  just  where  we  thought  we  could  labor  with 
much  success  ;  pruning  us,  but  not  in  the  place  we  expected. 
Thus  it  is  we  die  to  self,  and  live  only  in  Him. 

Oh !  Aunty,  how  much  misunderstanding  there  is  in  this 
world  ;  it  seems  to  be  the  root  of  a  great  deal  of  trouble  that 
exists,  and  especially  the  root  of  so  much  differing  between 
Christians.  I  see  it  so  constantly  amongst  them  here.  Oh  !  it 
makes  my  heart  very  sad  at  times  !  It  seems  to  me  they  do 
agree  upon  the  vital  points,  but  some  minor  matter — a  term, 
perhaps — prevents  their  seeing  even  this  agreement,  and  also 
besides,  it  prevents  their  progress  heavenward.  Oh  !  for  char- 
ity, charity.  Don't  you  believe,  if  Christians  would  make  it 
an  earnest  subject  of  prayer,  that  their  hearts  might  be  filled 
with  Christ's  Jove?  then  "  differings  "  would  cease,  cease  at 
least  in  expression,  for  we  shall  not,  shall  we,  all  fully  agree 
till  we  stand  whsre  "we  shall  know,  even  as  also  we  are 
known?  " 

I  must  tell  you  before  I  close,  a  remark  I  heard  yesterday 
about  Margaret.  It  especially  pleased  me,  because  I  felt 
Christ  was  honored  by  it.    Mrs.  Dayton  called  here  yester- 


GLIMPSES  OF  INKER  LIFE.  285 

day,  and  as  we  were  speaking  of  home  affairs,  she  said,  "  By 
the  way,  I  met  your  sister  Margaret  at  my  cousin's  last  week, 
and  I  never  saw  such  a  change  in  anybody  as  in  her.  Whj 
if  religion  would  do  as  much  for  me,  I  would  become  a  Chris- 
tian right  off."  This  remark  recalled  one  Margaret  made  to 
me  last  summer,  that  "  she  was  such  a  crooked  old  tree,  that 
grace  would  abound  more  in  her  than  in  the  graceful  elms 
and  maples  she  had  perhaps  envied  a  little."  I  think  Mrs. 
Dayton's  remark  proves  that  grace  does  abound  in  her. 
I'm  sure  she's  anything  but  a  "  crooked  tree"  to  me — no- 
ble, self-denying  sister.  Is  it  wrong  for  me  to  be  proud  that 
she  is  my  sister?  I'm  sure  it's  only  because  I  feel  it  such  an 
honor  to  have  a  sister  in  whom  Christ  dwells  so  richly.  Oh  ! 
I  do  so  ardently  desire  for  you  all  to  be  filled  with  Christ  more 
and  more,  and  not  only  you,  but  myself  and  all  the  world. 
''  Thy  kingdom  come,  thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  in  heav- 
en," is  one  of  my  most  fervent  prayers. 

And  now,  aunty,  I  must  close.  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
weary  reading  my  long  letters.  Soon  I  shall  be  home  to  talk 
with  you.  By  the  way,  I  suppose  from  what  Edward  says, 
Louise  will  get  home  about  the  same  time  that  I  do.  How 
sad  Bell  Rivers'  death  was.  It  seems  to  have  affected  Louise 
very  much,  judging  from  her  letter.  Poor  sister  !  European 
life  has  evidently  failed  to  satisfy  her.  Oh  !  that  she  may  yet 
find  Christ,  the  only  satisfying  portion. 

Love,  kve  to  everybody. 

Your  own  Bessie. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IT  was  at  the  close  of  a  beautiful  autumn  day 
in  early  October,  that  Bessie  Huntingdon  en- 
tered the  library  at  Easy  Hall,  and  cheerily  said  to 
the  company  assembled  there,  "  Come,  good  peo- 
ple, you  don't  begin  to  know  how  charming  it 
is  out  to-day.  You  have  talked  enough  about 
Europe  for  the  present,  and  now  I  propose  that 
we  take  a  general  ramble  round  the  village  ;  per- 
paps  Louise  would  like  to  see  the  improvements." 

"  O,  yes,"  replied  Margaret,  "  it's  just  the  best 
time  of  day  for  Louise  to  see  the  church  ;  that  is 
if  she  feels  able  to  take  the  walk." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Louise,  slowly  rising  and  smooth- 
ing back  the  folds  of  her  magnificent  silk,  "  Yes, 
I  should  like  to  go.  I  didn't  notice  much  yester- 
day when  we  came  into  town,  I  was  so  tired  and 
felt  so  dizzy  after  the  voyage.  What  shall  I  wear, 
Bessie  ?  " 

"  O,  anything,"  returned  she,  "  your  little  hat." 

They  were  soon  equipped,  and  started  off,  a 
party  of  four ;    Bessie  and  Mr.   Belmont  —  nov7. 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  287 

quite  recovered  from  his  illness — leading  the  way 
and  Margaret  and  Louise  following. 

"  So,  Margaret,  the  church  is  your  hobby,"  said 
Louise,  as  they  were  passing  down  the  avenue. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  replied  Margaret,  "  and 
I  don't  wonder  at  it,  for  it  has  been  my  chief  ob- 
ject of  thought  and  labor  during  your  absence.* 
Look  !  there  it  is." 

'•"  Where  ?"  returned  Louise,  glancing  in  the 
direction  of  Margaret's  pointed  finger. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see  the  spire,  and  the  building 
among  the  trees,  just  across  the  harbor  there  ?  " 

"  O,  yes!"  replied  Louise,  "how  pretty  it 
looks,  and  what  an  excellent  location  for  it !  Why, 

it's  at  the  fork  of  the   B and  T roads,  is 

it  not?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Margaret.  "  You  know  there 
was  a  small,  unoccupied  piece  of  ground  there 
owned  by  Mr.  Tiverton,  and  when  we  first  men- 
tioned building  a  church,  many  spoke  of  that  place, 
but  I  did  not  fancy  it  at  first ;  I  wanted  it  in  a 
more  secluded  place — on  the  hill-side  opposite,  for 
instance,  or  the  road  leading  from  our  avenue  to  the 
harbor.  I  had  selected  two  spots,  and  quite  set  my 
heart  upon  them,  but  father  and  Mrs.  Livingston, 
and  all,  thought  the  place  in  which  it  is  now  located 
would  be  decidedly  the  best ;  and  so  I  yielded  the 
point,  and  have  been  very  glad  since  that  I  did, 


288  THE    HUNTINGDON^  :    OR, 

for  I  think  the  Tillage  people  enjoy  it  more,  having 
it  right  amongst  them,  and  then  I  do  not  doubt  it 
will  exert  a  much  greater  influence  in  its  present 
position ;  and  the  greatest  good  of  all,  I  suppose, 
is  what  we  ought  to  consult  in  such  matters. 

"  I  believe  you  are  the  principal  owner  of  it,  are 
you  not  ?  "  returned  Louise. 

"Owner!  why,  what  do  you  mean?"  replied 
Margaret ;  "  the  church  belongs   to  the   village." 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean — you  have  given 
the  most  towards  building  it." 

"  I  gave  my  book,"  replied  Margaret,  "  to  the 
Lord,  and  promised  Him  all  that  I  received  from 
it  should  go  towards  the  church ;  and  He  blessed 
me  more  than  I  had  even  dared  to  hope  ;  but  many 
others — father,  Edward,  Mr.  Belmont,  Aunt  Liv- 
ingston and  the  village  people,  have  contributed 
towards  it.     Mr.  Tiverton  himself  gave  the  land.'' 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  responded  Louise,  "  why,  I 
thought  he  was  too  close  to  give  even  a  dollar  for 
charitable  purposes,  much  less  a  piece  of  land  like 
that." 

"  Well,  Bessie  succeeded  in  getting  it,  some 
way — you  know  she's  a  great  beggar — and  I  do 
not  know  of  any  person  who  has  been  more  inter- 
ested in  it  since.  He  says  he  intends  to  take  a 
pew  ;  not  that  he  expects  to  come  very  often  him- 
selfs  but  then  it  will  be  handy  for  visitors  staying 


GLOIPSl.S  OF  INNER  LIFE.  289 

wkh  them  ;  but  I  have   great  hopes  of  him,   and 
feel  that  he  will  yet  be  one  of  the  Lord's  people.'' 

And  now  they  turned  a  corner,  so  that  the  neat 
wooden  church  was  perfectly  visible  to  them.  Mr. 
Belmont  and  Bessie  came  back  to  them,  and  Bessie 
said  eagerly.  "  Well,  Louise,  how  do  you  like  our 
church?" 

"  It  is  very  neat  and  simple,"  replied  she,  "just 
the  building  for  the  spot  and  village.  Who  de- 
signed it  ?  " 

"  The  young  lady  at  your  right,"  replied  Bessie. 

"  Oh  !  Bessie,"  returned  Margaret,  chidingly, 
"  don't  say  that,  for  I  studied  architecture  for  a 
whole  year,  and  stole  this  and  that  idea  from  vari- 
ous buildings,  and  then  from  my  rude  conceptions, 
Mr.  Black,  our  village  carpenter,  designed  the 
building." 

"  Well,  I  should  think, "  responded  Louise, 
"  pretty  much  of  the  credit  of  it  belonged  t  j  you. 
By  the  way,  when  will  it  be  finished  ?  " 

"  In  a  month  or  two,"  replied  Margaret ;  "  we 
liope  to  dedicate  it  this  winter." 

"  AYhat  are  you  going  to  have  for  a  fence  ?  " 
continued  Louise,  as  they  now  passed  on  to  the 
enclosure  of  the  church. 

"  We  have  not  quite  decided  yet.  We  really 
want  a  better  one  than  our  funds  will  permit  just 
now.  You  see  there  is  quite  a  piece  to  be  en- 
closed." 


290  THE    HUNTINGDONS  I    OR, 

"  Margaret,  let  me  furnish  that,"  whispered 
Louise.  "You  shall  have  one  to  your  satisfac- 
tion." 

"  O,  Louise,  you  are  too  kind  !  "  replied  Marga- 
ret ;  "  It  was  more  than  I  expected  from  you." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  returned  Louise. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it's  because  you  are  not  inter- 
ested in  such  things."  , 

"  Interested  in  such,  Margaret,  as  much  as  ijfl 
any.  Life  is  not  so  very  beautiful  to  me,  after 
all,"  and  she  smiled  so  sadly  and  drearily,  that 
Margaret's  heart  was  deeply  touched. 

"  What  a  dear  little  church  !  "  continued  Louise 
as  she  entered  the  inside,  "  and  '  oak  finish  '  too  ; 
O,  I  always  liked  that  for  the  country !  There, 
I  know  I  shall  love  to  come  here,  it  is  so  pleasant, 
if  you  have  a  good  minister  !  Have  you  thought 
of  any  one  yet  ?  " 

Margaret  colored,  and  said  in  a  very  low  tone 
of  voice,  "  Yes,  I  will  tell  you  about  it  by-and-by. 
Mr.  Belmont  is  going  to  preach  for  us  next  Sun- 
day." 

After  examining  the  various  parts  of  the  church, 
they  retraced  their  steps,  and  silently  wended  their 
way  up  to  the  cemetery,  where  they  quietly  gath- 
ered round  the  graves  of  Georgie  and  her  hus- 
band. 

"  Oh  !  Georgie,"  sobbed  Louise,  as  she  rested 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  291 

her  head  against  the  tombstone,  "  why  did  you  go 
first  ?  " 

"  She  was  all  ready  to  go,"  returned  Bessie, 
hardly  conscious  of  what  she  was  saying. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Louise,  "  it  was  better,"  and 
the  same  dreary  smile  passed  over  her  face  that 
Margaret  observed  in  the  church.  They  returned 
home  more  silent  and  sad  than  they,  went.  Little 
Georgie  met  them  at  the  door,  and  the  mother 
spoke  through  the  soul-full  eyes  of  her  little  one, 
saying,  "  Come  to  Christ,  weary  one  ;  come  to  Him 
and  find  rest."  Snatching  up  the  child,  Louise 
kissed  her  again  and  again,  and  sadly  said  to 
Margaret,  "  Oh !  Margaret,  if  I  only  had  such  a 
child,  I  should  have  something  to  live  for.  Why 
didn't  Georgie  give  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  Why  didn't  Georgie  give  it  to  me  !  "  with  its 
longing  accent,  rang  and  rang  in  Margaret's  ears 
through  the  long  night,  till  she  could  endure  its 
pleadings  no  longer,  and  in  the  morning  she  sought 
Mrs.  Livingston,  and  with  weeping  eyes  said, 
"  Dear  aunt,  have  you  noticed  how  very  sad  and 
unhappy  Louise  seems  to  be  ?  What  can  be  the 
matter  with  her  ?  Mr.  Kemp  is  very  kind  to  her, 
she  says,  and  they  seem  to  be  happy  together,  but 
she  speaks  so  drearily  to  me  sometimes,  it  seems  as 
if  my  heart  would  break  for  her.  Have  you  no- 
ticed it  ?  " 


292  THE    HUNTIXGDONS:    OR, 

"Only  too  well,"  returned  Mrs.  Livingston, 
"  your  father  and  I  were  speaking  of  it  last  night, 
and  it  weighs  heavily  upon  him.  He  said  to  me, 
'  Oh !  sister,  what  would  I  give  to  see  Louise  con- 
tented and  cheerful  like  her  sisters.'  Poor  wo- 
man !  with  all  the  happiness  that  money  can  afford, 
she  seems  wretched  indeed.  We  can  only  pray 
for  her  now,  Margaret,  that  God  would  open  her 
eyes  to  true  happiness." 

"  Don't  you  think  she  would  be  happier  if  she 
had  children?"  continued  Margaret. 

"  O,  yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  I  wish 
she  had  one." 

"  I  spoke  of  that,  responded  Margaret,  on  ac- 
count of  a  remark  she  made  to  me  yesterday. 
When  we  came  back  from  our  walk,  little  George 
met  us,  and  Louise  caught  her  right  up  in  her 
arms,  and  kissing  her  again  and  again,  said  in  such 
a  pleading,  aching  tone,  I  have  not  forgotten  it 
since,  '  Oh!  Margaret,  if  I  only  had  such  a  child, 
I  should  have  something  to  live  for.  Why  didn't 
Georgie  give  it  to  me  ?'  " 

A  shade  of  anxiety  and  sorrow  passed  over  Mrs. 
Livingston's  face,  but  she  only  replied,  thought- 
fully, "  Did  she  ?  " 

Mrs.  Livingston  was  thoughtful  and  prayerful 
all  that  day ;  then  at  night  she  sought  Louise,  and 
after   some   general   conversation,    said   tenderly, 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  293 

"  Louise,  you  don't  seem  to  be  happy.     Are  you 
sick  ?  or  is  it  lonely  here  for  you  ?  •" 

"  Oh  !  aunt,  neither  of  those,1'  returned  Louise, 
"  but  please  don't  ask  me,  for  I  know  it  is  very 
wicked  for  me  to  feel  so,  with  such  a  good  husband 
and  everything  that  heart  can  wish,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  I  am  unhappy  all  the  time,  and  some- 
times I  almost  wish  I  could  die ;  I  feel  so  wretch- 
edly, especially  since  Bell  Rivers  died.  Oh  !  I 
wish  I  had  never  seen  her  !  I  couldn't  refuse, 
however,  to  go  to  her,  as  her  father  said  she  was 
constantly  calling  for  me.  I  have  not  mentioned 
it  to  an}r  one  before,  save  Edward  ;  I  could  not. 
It  affects  me  so  much,  I  dread  to  speak  of  it !  Her 
death  was  very,  very  sad.  Oh  !  how  she  begged 
of  us  to  do  something  more  for  her  !  to  save  her 
life,  and  then  she  would  call  on  Edward  so  pite- 
ously,  '  to  come  to  her ;  he  had  promised  he  would, 
and  perhaps  he  could  save  her.'  There  was  a 
minister  present,  but  he  could  not  comfort  her  in 
the  least.  She  kept  telling  him  c  it  was  too  late  ! 
too  late  !  God  wouldn't  forgive  her  ;  she  had  re- 
fused Him  too  many  times.'  She  blamed  her 
father,  and  said  '  lie  was  the  cause  of  her  unhap- 
piness ;  that  she  might  have  become  a  Christian, 
and  now  been  prepared  to  die,  if  he  had  not  per- 
suaded her  to  give  up  Edward;  that  she  never 
loved  any  one  else.'     You  know  she  gave  up   that 


294  THE  HUNTIXGDOXS  :    OR, 

young  man  who  waited  upon  her  after  Edward, 
just  before  she  came  to  Paris.  Her  father  was  in 
perfect  agony  the  whole  time.  Oh  !  how  I  pitied 
him !  but  I  did  not  stay  with  her  long,  for  it  was 
too  much  for  me.  I  fainted  away,  and  was  carried 
from  the  room,  and  Mr.  Kemp  would  not  let 
me  return.  I  heard  she  continued,  in  just  such 
a  state  till  her  death.  How  horrible  it  was  to 
die  so !  Poor,  poor  Bell ! — how  Edward  wep- 
yesterday  when  I  told  him  of  it.  I  don't  know 
what  he  would  have  done  had  he  seen  and  heard 
her.  I  wish  I  never  had.  I  can  never  forget  it, 
and  at  nights  I  often  get  so  frightened  over  it, 
Oh  !  I  wish  I  was  at  peace  !   ' 

"Louise,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  ''you  can  have 
peace.  There  is  One  who  can  give  it  to  you ;  will 
you  not  seek  Him  ?  " 

"Dear  aunt,  will  you  believe  it?  gay  and 
giddy  as  you  may  have  thought  I  have  been  in 
Paris,  I  have  been  seeking  Him.  '  O,  how  many 
times  have  I  thought  of  you  all  praying  for  me, 
and  sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  thoughts 
of  so  many  prayers  ascending  for  me,  would  crush 
me  to  the  very  earth,  and  then  I  would  try  so 
hard  to  find  Christ." 

"And  couldn't  you  find  Him?"  replied 
Mrs.  L. 

"  Not  as  I  wish  to,"  returned  Louise  ;  and  then 


GLIMPSES  OF   INNER  LIFE.  295 

confidingly  she  told  Mrs.  Livingston  all  her  heart. 
Mrs.  Livingston  soon  saw  the  "  block  "  she  was 
stumbling  over,  and  said,  "  Louise,  '  Yet  lackest 
thou  one  thing  ;  sell  all  thou  hast,  and  distribute 
unto  the  poor,  and  thou  shait  have  treasure  in 
heaven  ;  and  come,  follow  me.'  ' 

"  Oh !  aunt  Livingston,  I  never  can  work  for 
the  poor,  as  Margaret  and  you  and  Bessie  do  in 
the  world.  I  never  could  go  near  a  poor  person, 
so  much  dirt  and  distress, J  couldn't  endure  it! 
And  then  I  don't  know  why  I  need  give  so  much 
money  to  them,  I  don't  have  much  to  give  any- 
way ;  it  takes  nearly  all  Mr.  Kemp  gives  me,  to 
purchase  my  clothes/' 

"  Oh  !  Louise,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  "  '  How  hard- 
ly shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  God.'  4  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  mam- 
mon,' No,  Louise,  would  you  know  Christ  and 
the  peace  His  love  affords  you,  you  must  give  up 
all  to  Him,  and  be  willing  to  take  up  the  cross 
and  be  led  just  as  He  pleases." 

44  What !  and  dress  as  plainly  as  you  and 
Margaret  and  Bessie  do  ?  "  returned  Louise. 

"  What  does  the  apostle  say  about   that  ?  "  re- 

'  plied   Mrs.   L.,    '4  about   the    dress    of    Christian, 

women.     If  it  were  not  important,  and  he  did  not 

think,    that  they   must  dress   differentl}'  from  the 

world's  people,  he  would  not   have  referred  to  it, 


296  THE    HUNTINGDON  :    OR, 

He  says,  (  whose  adorning  let  it  not  be  that  out- 
ward adorning  of  plaiting  the  hair,  and  of  wear- 
ing of  gold,  or  of  putting  on  of  apparel.  But 
let  it  be  the  hidden  man  of  the  heart,  in  that 
which  is  not  corruptible,  even  the  ornament  of  a 
weak  and  quiet  spirit  which  is  in  the  sight  of  God 
of  great  price.'     Is  not  the  direction  plain  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  be,"  replied  Louise,  "  but,  dear 
me  !  how  few  Christians  follow  it.  Why,  just  look 
round  at  Mr.  Leslie's  some  Sabbath,  and  mark 
how  much  jewelry  and  finery,  one  can  see.  I 
never  had  a  taste  for  wearing  such  things  to 
church,  and  I  have  often  wondered,  how  people 
of  any  taste  could  dress  for  church,  almost  the 
same  as  for  a  party.  Why,  there  is  Miss  Steele, 
she  always  dressed  gayly  and  conspicously,  and 
I  don't  see  as  she  has  changed  her  dress  at  all 
since  she  joined  the  church.  I  have  heard  it 
said,  she  was  quite  a  devoted  Christian  ;  so  you  see 
one  may  dress  a  great  deal  and  yet  be  a  Christian." 

"  1  doubt,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,.  "  whether 
Miss  Steele's  attention  has  ever  been  directed  to 
the  subject  of  dress."^  Her  mother  is  one  of  those 
persons  who  think  '  tasty  dress  '  is  all  important, 
and  she  has  trained  her  daughters  in  the  same 
manner,  and  I  presume  Miss  Steele  would  hardly 
think  now,  she  dresses  too  much.  I  believe, 
however,  she  is  a  sincere  Christian ;  and  as  I  have 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  297 

watched  her  laboring  for  the  Master  here  and 
there,  how  have  I  longed  to  tell  her  how  her 
dress  hinders  her  usefulness.  I  believe,  I  am 
quite  assured,  if  she  could  hear  some  of  the  re- 
marks which  are  made  concerning  her,  she  would 
modify  it  considerably  ;  feeling,  like  Paul, '  Where- 
fore, if  meat  make  my  brother  to  offend,  I  will  eat 
no  flesh  while  the  world  standeth,'  or,  '  It  is  good 
neither  to  eat  flesh,  nor  to  drink  wine,  nor  any- 
thing whereby  thy  brother  stumbleth,  or  is  offend- 
ed, or  is  made  weak.'  And  then,  too,  Miss 
Steele  is  a  young  lady  of  so  much  influence  in  the 
church,  I  desire  to  hive  that  influence  all  tell  for 
the  precious  cause.  By  her  present  manner  of 
dressing,  she  sets  a  bad  example  to  the  world  who 
can  well  say,  '  how  do  ye  different  from  us  ;'  to 
poorer  Christians  who  look  up  to  her  as  a  stand- 
ard, and  endeavor  to  conform  to  her  fashions  ;  to 
the  poor,  to  whom  perhaps,  she  ministers,  who 
feel,  '  how  can  you  dress  so  richly,  when  so  many 
poor  people  are  hungering  for  bread  around  you, 
which  you  might  give  to  them.'  Ah  !  Louise, 
there  is  a  greater  responsibility  here,  than  many 
of  God's  people  imagine.  One  thing,  however,  I 
have  observed,  the  nearer  a  soul  gets  to  Christ, 
the  more  these  outside  adornings  disappear.  I 
remember  now,  a  young  lady  friend  of  mine  who 
said  to   me   soon    after    she   joined   the     church, 


298  THE  HUXTINGDOXS  :    OR, 

1  Lizzie,  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  getting  ^00 
particular,  but  I  can't  spend  so  much  time  em- 
broidering and  trimming  my  clothes  as  I  used  to. 
I  can't  bear  to  wear  my  blue  silk  with  so  many 
flounces  either,  when  I  remember  the  precious 
time  it  took  to  make  them,  which  I  might  have 
spent,  tract  distributing,  visiting  the  sick,  or  in 
some  other  good  work.  No,  I  can't  do  such 
things  now,  and  feel  my  Saviour  is  smiling  upon 
me.  Another  thing,  you  know,  how  I  always 
used  to  braid  my  hair,  Sundays,  and  all,  those 
wide  braids  which  took  me  so  long,  — well,  last 
Sunday,  as  I  was  braiding  them,  the  thoughts 
came  to  me,  How  much  time  you  spend  over 
this  poor  perishing  body,  how  much  have  you 
given  your  soul  to-day  ?  Would  n't  it  be  better 
to  spend  the  remainder  of  your  time  before 
church,  preparing  your  soul  for  divine  service, 
than  thus  to  be  beautifying  your  body  ?  Do  you 
need  to  adorn  yourself  thus  to  go  into  the  Lord's 
house  ?  to  worship  at  His  altar  ?  Who  are  you 
desiring  to  ploase,  Him,  or  the  world  ?  and,  Liz- 
zie, I  could  braid  no  more.  I  brushed  my  hair 
back  neatly,  and  flew  to  my  closet  and  to  my 
Bible,  and  oh,  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  what  a 
precious  season  I  had  with  my  Saviour,  and  how 
much  I  enjoyed  the  service  that  morning  at 
church  ?  " 


GLIMPSES  OF  INKER  LIFE.  299 

"  But  could  n't  she  have  done  both  ?  "  replied 
Louise.  "  I'm  sure,  there  was  no  harm  in  her 
making  herself  look  pleasing  to  her  friends." 

"She  desired  more  the  '  inward  adorning,'  " 
responded  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  and  she  saw  that 
to  gain  this,  the  time  was  not  to  be  wasted  on 
outside  adornings.  It  did  not  render  her  less 
pleasing,  to  sensible  people  to  see  her  hair  plain. 
Indeed,  from  this  time  she  was  more  anxious  to 
be  pleasing  to  her  friends,  and  the  world,  than  she 
ever  was  before,  but  to  please  them  for  '  their 
edification,'  by  kind  words,  looks  and  actions. 
Her  dress  was  as  a  Christian's  should  always  be  — 
neat,  in  good  taste,  and  according  to  her  circum- 
stances ;  she  never  was  ashamed,  or  proud  of  it. 
There  is  Louise,  a  propriety  in  all  things,  and 
there  is  nothing  which  concerns  our  daily  life,  but 
what  we  can  carry  to  our  Father  and  ask  for  His 
guidance  concerning  it.  I  make  my  dress  just  as 
much  a  subject  of  prayer  as  anything  else,  and 
you  can  do  the  same." 

"  But,  aunt,  it  don't  seem  so  important  to  me, 
it's  a  little  thing  after  all." 

"  So  little,"  replied  Mrs.  Livingston,  thought- 
fully, "  that  you  are  willing  to  peril  your  soul 
rather  than  to  give  it  up." 

Louise  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
she  said,    "  No,  it  is  not  a  little  thing  after  all ;    it 


300  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :  OR, 

is  really  all  I  live  for.  How  could  I  be  happy 
without  it?" 

"  You  cannot  be  happy  until  you  do  relinquish 
it,"  replied  Mrs.  L.,  "  for  it  is  your  '  idol,'  and 
as  I  have  said,  '  ye  cannot  serve  God  and  mam- 
mon ;'  you  must  '  Set  your  affections  on  things 
above,'  before  you  can  find  any  true  peace." 

Louise  made  no  reply,  and  they  were  silent 
awhile,  then  Mrs.  Livingston  said,  "Louise,  I 
have  not  yet  told  you,  my  true  reason  for  coming 
in  here  this  evening*.  Margaret  mentioned  to  me 
this  morning,  that  you  have  said,  you  wished 
4  Georgie  had  given  little  Georgie  to  you,'  now — " 

"  Oh !  aunt  Livingston,"  interrupted  Louise, 
"  how  could  Margaret  tell  you  that  ?  I  did  nH 
mean  anything.  Little  Georgie  is  so  sweet,  I 
could  n't  help  wishing  it  just  then.  I  am  glad 
she  didn't  give  her  to  me.  I  couldn't  begin  to 
bring  her  up  aright." 

"  But,  Louise,"  continued  Mrs.  Livingston,  "I 
have  been  thinking  and  praying  about  it  all  day, 
and  seeing  how  lonely  you  seem  to  be,  I  have 
thought  best  to  loan  her  to  you  for  a  while,  that 
is,  if  you  thought  you  would  be  willing  to  return 
her  to  me  when  I  desired.  I  should  wish  also  to 
pass  three  or  fom  months  with  her  during  the 
year.  You  could  come  up  here,  and  I  would 
visit  you,  so  that  she  would  not  forget  me.     Then 


GLIMPSES  OF    INKER   LIFE.  301 

I  should  desire  to  have  her  dress  and  food  very 
plain,  and  that  you  should  teach  and  tell  her 
about  the  God  who  made  her.  I  feel,  Louise, 
that  I  have  her  soul  to  answer  for,  and  God  for- 
bid that  I  should  peril  it  in  any  way." 

"  Oh  !  aunt  Livingston,"  returned  Louise, 
brushing  away  the  coming  tears,  "  how  can  I 
thank  you  enough  for  this  kind  news.  Indeed  I 
will  be  faithful,  and  do  with  her  just  as  you 
would,  but  how  can.  you  be  willing  to  part  with 
her?" 

"It  was  only  through  much  supplication, 
Louise,  I  gained  the  willing  mind.  I  can  well 
afford  though  to  part  with  her,  for  a  while,  if  she 
will  take  your  heart  from  worldly  things,  and  lead 
you  from  loving  the  creature,  to  the  love  of  the 
Creator." 

Thus  little  Georgie  passed  into  Louise's  hands, 
and  all  felt  how  nobly  and  wisely  Mrs.  Livingston 
had  done,  as  they  saw  Louise  gifted  with  new 
energy  and  life.  No  one  was  more  pleased  than 
Mr.  Kemp,  and  little  Georgie  was  in  more 
danger  from  being  spoiled  in  his  hands,  than  in 
Louise's,  for  she  could  not  forget  how  sacred  was 
the  charge  committed  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

T  was  not  many  days  after,  when  Mr.  Bel- 
mont entered  hurriedly  one  morning  into  the 
house,  and  beckoning  to  Bessie,  who  was  in  the 
dining-room  assisting  Mrs.  Livingston ,  he  led  the 
way  into  the  library.  He  closed  the  door  care- 
fully, and  then  seating  himself  and  Bessie  on  a 
lounge,  he  dre^w  from  his  pocket  a  letter  and  bade 
her  read  it.  She  glanced  at  the  outside,  and 
opening  it,  found  it  was  an  offer  of  the  pastorship 
of  the  "  new  church."  She  read  only  a  few  lines 
before  she  said,  "  O,  how  rejoiced  I  am !  You 
will  accept  it,  wont  you  ?  How  good  the  Lord  is 
to  us  ;  truly  our  cup  is  overflowing." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Mr.  Belmont.  "  I  don't 
think  I  could  have  received  an  offer  more  agreeable 
or  desirable.  I  have  always  desired  to  be  located 
in  the  country  rather  than  in  the  city,  and  here  is 
such  a  good  field  to  work,  and  so  much  to  be 
done,  Bessie,  we  shall  have  to  be  '  busy  bees.'  ' 

"  I'm  all  ready,"  replied  Bessie,  "  you  know  I 
love  to  be  '  busy  '  —  busy  for  the  Lord.  I  do  not 
think  there  is  anything  for  which  I  render  to  my 
Maker  more  hearty,  thanks,  than  this  love  I  have 


GLIMPSES  OF  INNER  LIFE.  303 

for  '  work.'  Oh' !  I  do  pity,  naturally  indolent 
people  who  have  to  rouse  themselves  to  labor." 

"  Well,  you  will  have  work  enough,"  replied 
Mr.  Belmont,  "  and  by  the  way,  Bessie,  how  for- 
tunate we  are  called  here  ;  you  wont  be  afraid  to 
be  a  minister's  wife  now,  with  the  4  home  ones,' 
will  you  ?  '  and  bending  his  face  down  to  gaze 
into  hers,  he  smilingly  awaited  her  reply. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Bessie, 
glancing  up  archly,  "just  think  how  staid  I  must 
be,  to  be  minister's  wife  to  my  father  and  aunt 
Livingston.  Well,  I  shan't  fear  them,  I  guess. 
And  now  I  think  more  of  it,"  continued  she, 
after  a  slight  pause,  "  how  good  it  is  of  the  Lord, 
that  He  has  called  us  here,  for  aunty  can  correct  me 
when  I  err,  and  I  shall  have  her  counsels  the  same 
as  ever.  O,  how  just  right,  the  Lord  does  lead 
us  !  Is  n't  it  good  to  trust  in  Him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Bessie,  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Belmont, 
thoughtfully. 

A  moment  or  two  now  passed  in  silence,  then 
Mr.  Belmont  said,  "  Bessie,  shall  we  not  render 
praise  to  God  for  this  great  blessing  He  has 
bestowed  upon  us  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  softly  responded  Bessie,  and  —  meekly, 
lovingly,  they  knelt,  and  from  overflowing  hearts 
poured  forth  sweet  praises  unto  God,  then  conse- 
crated themselves  anew  to  their  "  life  work." 

The  offer  was  in  due  time  formally  accepted, 


304:  THE   HUNTINGDONS  :    OK, 

and  only  a  few  weeks  followed  before  the   church, 
was  dedicated,  and  Mr.  Belmont  installed. 

~No  one  that  day  was  so  happy  as  Margaret,  her 
face  fairly  radiated  with  joy,  as  she  saw  the  com- 
pletion of  her  past  year's  fervent  labor,  and  the 
silent  song  of  her  heart  was,  "  My  soul  doth 
magnify  the  Lord."  Mr.  Belmont's  first  sermon 
as  pastor  was  from  the  text  she  gave  him, — "  Oh, 
that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for  His  goodness, 
and  for  His  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of 
men  !  " 

The  winter  which  followed  at  Easy  Hall  was  an 
exceedingly  busy  one  with  Mrs.  Livingston,  Mar- 
garet and  Bessie.  Louise  had  returned  to  her 
city  home  with  little  Greorgie,  but  she  was  very 
busy  also.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  that  she  did 
not  send  some  package  by  Mr.  Huntingdon  or  Ed- 
ward to  Bessie.  As  spring  opened,  too,  there  was 
a  great  deal  of  passing  from  Easy  Hall  to  a  little 
cottage,hidden  amongst  the  trees,  just  across  the 
harbor,  on  the  hill-side.  But  there  came  a  day 
when  the  hurried  tripping  to  the  cottage  ceased — 
when  the  last  package  was  sent  and  the  busy  fin- 
gers folded  themselves  quietly,  and  all  was  done  ! 
The  next  day,  on  a  beautiful  May  morning,  when 
the  world  was  bursting  into  life  and  beauty,  in  the 
little  village  church,  surrounded  by  joyous  friends 
and  happy  villagers,  were  the  village  pastor  and 
the  village  pet  made  one — forever  ! 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

?  I^IME  pa/ssed  on.  The  church  nourished,  and 
J_  the  village  pastor  and  his  wife  labored  in 
earnest  faithfully  to  cultivate  their  little  vineyard ; 
and  they  saw  the  fruits  of  their  labors  in  the  con- 
version of  many  souls,  and  the  progress  of  others 
in  holiness.  Margaret  Huntingdon  was  ever  at 
their  side,  and  she  proved  not  only  the  villagers 
but  the  pastor's  riglit-hand  helper.  Her  life  was 
richly  full  of  Christ-like  deeds,  and  though  the 
world  saw  not  its  loveliness,  angels  gazed — as 
earth's  redeemed  ones  will  hereafter — with  increas- 
ing delight  on  its  richly  perfumed  pages. 

Bessie's  place  at  home  was  now  filled  by  an  or- 
phan stranger — the  village  school-mistress  Yery 
dear  was  she  to  Margaret,  but  dearer  to   another. 

Edward  Livingston  still  came  and  went,  "  dili- 
gent in  business,  serving  the  Lord  " — a  happy  man, 
looking  eagerly  forward  to  that  day  which  would 
commence  man's  truest  earthly  life,  but  not  for- 
getting the  other,  better,  purer  one,  which  waiteth 
him  on  the  other  shore. 

Only  six  short  months  did  little  Georgie  comfort 
Louise's  heart,  then  the  Angel-keeper  came  and 
stole  her  silently  away,  and  sadly,  softly  they  laid 


306  THE  HUNTINGDONS 

her  down  upon  her  loving  mother's  breast.  Her 
little  mission  was  all  accomplished.  She  saved 
the  soul  her  mother  longed  to  save,  for  through 
blinding  tears,  Louise  vowed  forever  "  to  be  the 
Lord's."  Two  homeless  orphans  now  call  her 
"  mamma,"  and  the  "  Orphans'  Home,"  and  other 
charitable  societies,  find  in  her  a  warm  friend  and 
a  liberal  supporter. 

Pleasant  are  Mr.  Huntingdon's  day-dreams  as 
he  sees  all  the  lambs  God  gave  him,  "  safely  housed 
in  the  fold."  He  passes  the  long  afternoons,  after 
his  return  from  business,  sometimes  in  the  little 
cottage  near  the  harbor,  Louise  has  taken  for  the 
summer ;  sometimes  in  the  parsonage  with  Bessie 
and  Mr.  Belmont ;  sometimes  stopping  at  the  vil- 
lage school  to  hear  the  little  ones'  merry  songs, 
and  to  bid  the  school-mistress, — "  bring  home  rosy 
cheeks,  else  Edward  will  frown  ; "  or  he  turns  up 
the  avenue  and  calls  at  Easy  Hall — for  Easy  Hall 
is  not  his  home  now.  Three  months  ago,  the 
Huntingdons  left,  and  dwell  in  the  large  brown 
house  just  beyond  Bessie's  home, — left,  because 
one  summer  afternoon  a  disabled  soldier,  wounded 
in  the  Crimea,  came  to  Easy  Hall.  He  told  to  a 
loving,  waiting  woman  a  sincere  tale  of  error,  re- 
pentance, and  simple  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus,  and 
now  in  a  corner  he  sits  in  his  arm  chair,  master  at 
Easy  Hall — and  Mrs.  Livingston  is  no  more  alone. 


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PUBLISHED    BY 

GRAVES  AND    YOUNG-, 

24    CORNHILL,    BOSTON. 


THE  LESLIE  STORIES. 

BY 

MRS.  MADELINE  LESLIE. 


EARNING  AND  SPENDING.  1vol.  16mo.;  handsomely  illus- 
trated. "  This  is  the  title  of  an  interesting  and  instructive  vol- 
ume. The  author  always  writes  wholesome  bocks  tor  young  or 
old,  and  the  aim  is  to  inculcate  a  lofty  purpose  in  life,  Christian 
integrity,  and  usefulness." 

UP  THE  LADDER.  1  vol.  16mo. ;  handsomely  illustrated. 
"This  is  a  volume  adapted  to  inspire  in  boys  a  love  for  what  is  right 
and  honorable.  It  points  out  the  effects  of  diffeient  kinds  of  train- 
ing and  habits,  and  makes  many  practical  suggestions  of  great 
value  to  the  young." 

NEVER  GIVE  UP.  1  vol.  16mo.;  handsomely  illustrated. 
"This  is  a  fiction  founded  upon  fact,  and  presents  in  the  career 
of  one  newsboy  a  brilliant  example  for  the  imitation  and  en- 
couragement of  all  boys  who  have  an  ambition  to  become  useful 
and  respected." 

WORTH  AND  WEALTH;  or,  Jessie  Doer.  1  vol.  16mo.; 
handsomely  illustrated.  "  This  is  one  of  tlie  well-known  Leslie 
Stories.  The  tone  of  the  narrative  is  thoroughly  religious,  and  the 
incidents  of  such  a  touching  and  impressive  character  as  is  like  to 
benefit  the  juvenile  reader." 

THE  SECRET  OF  SUCCESS.  1vol.  16mo.;  handsomely  illus- 
trated. "  This  volume  shows  what  a  sanctified  ambition  can  ac- 
complish by  a  right  application  of  industry  and  perseverance."  • 

The  above  five  volumes  in  a  neat  box  with  illuminated  cover. 

GRAVES    AND    YOUNG, 

24  CornMll,  Boston. 


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